Separation Anxiety
by ilurandir
Summary: AU: Barry and Tom have gotten the operation that separates them, despite the risks involved. But dealing with it is so much harder than they expected. And more ominously, that voice in Barry's head is much harder to drown out than before...
1. Part One

**SEPARATION ANXIETY**

Part One

After the separation it took a long time for things to adjust. At first, Tom wouldn't leave Barry's side. Keeping an eye on him, watching him for minutes at a time if he coughed, sighed or stuttered, or if he made any odd movements.

Both brothers had been informed of the possibilities of one of their deaths after the operation, and they both knew who it would be, but Barry rose no real objections. It had grown more and more obvious that they couldn't continue on this way… But Barry still wondered if things would be different if there was no Laura around to complicate things. Or if they'd never come to Humbleden at all.

Those nerve-wracking weeks had passed however and crisis had been avoided. Barry hadn't shown any signs of weakening and they were past the midway point. If there were going to be any side effects of the surgery, they would have shown themselves by now… At least physically.

At first it was like there had been no separation at all. They stayed together like they always had, some days refusing to leave their room; Barry cradled against Tom's side, his face buried in his brother's neck. Only the two of them knew how Barry's breathing would speed up and then break; never letting Tom see his tears even when Tom fell with him, into these momentary down-spirals.

Eventually though, Tom was up and around. Tom was out taking short walks with Laura, sitting at the breakfast table, quieter and more distant than usual, but never going far from Barry. Barry became almost catatonic. The band's progress was put on hold. The cameras had been shut off since before the surgery… they didn't come back out.

Paul would come down in the morning to find Barry sitting at the table alone, looking somehow, so much smaller than usual, staring straight ahead, down at the grain of the wooden table, or at his own cold, loosely fisted hands. He hardly ate at all unless Tom forced him to.

Nick had kept his distance from both of them, and Paul was grateful for that. Barry looked like he could be blown over by the slightest breath, much less a harsh voice or a raised fist.

"Morning." Paul's voice met his ears and Barry's eyes cleared a little, and he met the bassist's gaze for a brief moment. "Morning, Paul," he said very softly.

Paul sat across from him and watched him for a moment, at a loss for words. He played with a spoon that someone had left on the table, turning it over and over in his hand. "Where's Tom?" He finally asked.

"Dunno." Barry said, and edge to his voice. "Out with Laura, probably."

There was nothing to say.

'_You'll get used to it,' _

'_You'll find someone,' _

'_You shouldn't have gone along with the operation. Tom wouldn't have done it if you'd said no.'._

Paul sighed and stood up. He needed more fags. He was about to ask Barry if he needed any, but remembered just in time that he wasn't allowed to smoke for six weeks after the operation.

As he stood, it was almost as though Barry curled into himself, pulling his legs up onto the chair and resting his chin on his knees. Paul watched him for a moment, then moved closer and kissed him briefly on top of the head. "You're all right, Baz," he said before grabbing his jacket and walking out.

Barry followed him with his eyes until he was out of sight. He buried his face in his knees. Paul'd said that before… he wasn't exactly sure what he meant by it.

Paul unbuttoned his shirt, glancing at the clock in the corner that told him that it was very early in the morning. God, what an insomniac he'd become. He wasn't even tired. He was only going to bed because he knew that by afternoon today he'd wish that he had at least gotten some. _'It's the drugs_,' he thought vaguely.

He threw the silk shirt into the corner and kicked off his boots before sitting down on the edge of his bed, lying back sideways across it with a sigh. Fuck he missed his flat. It had been small and cold and little moldy, but he could have blokes over without anyone questioning it. He stared at the ceiling where he could see the shadows of moths at the light outside flitting about strangely.

Tom and Barry still slept in the same room. He wondered if Barry would ever get used to the separation and his insides twinged with worry and a familiar frustration. He wasn't sure if he was frustrated with Barry or his brother for going along with it. Tom knew better than anyone that Barry didn't want a separation but Barry hadn't said anything; not a word. In the last few weeks before the operation Barry would absently it seemed, reach for his brother's hand, stroke his hair. Clutch at his sweater a little harder than usual when they slipped their arms around each other.

Well. It wasn't his fucking business anyway.

He pulled the covers down and slipped under them, clad now, only in his dark jeans, turning over onto his stomach he closed his eyes, and hoped that he wouldn't have to suffer through this for hours before he finally did fall asleep, or just gave up and toughed the day out anyway.

Tom and Barry were standing in the recording room, the red lights on, with their backs to him. They were hunched over slightly, arms around each other as always, muttering back and forth, Barry's voice occasionally rising. They sounded oddly distorted… almost like in their recordings… _Doola and Dawla-esque_.

As Paul approached, Barry looked back at him. "Who is it?" Tom asked.

"Paul." Barry and Paul answered at the same time.

They turned and Paul stumbled back, feeling the air leaving him all at once. Blood was dripping –No, it was flowing… gushing- to the floor from the join that connected them (wait… that was gone now…) and a knife had been embedded into the join of flesh there.

Barry reached out to him, his hand covered in blood. Dried at his wrist – tissue clotted in red over his knuckles…

Paul started awake with a short cry, realizing that he was in the darkness of his own room at Humbleden. The boys had been separated. There was no way that that could actually be happening. He attempted a deep breath and realized how fast his heart was pounding.

There was a shadow in his doorway, backlit by the garish lighting in the hallway. Part of his dream had been real.

"Barry…?" Paul managed, feeling his hand twitch involuntarily on the covers. "What is it?"

Barry didn't say anything for a moment. Paul watched his right hip jut out as he changed his weight from one foot to the other. It was only when Paul moved to get up that Barry spoke quickly, as though to stop him. "Tom's with Laura… so... I don't have to stay… now… if they're fucking."

Paul's eyes passed over Barry's lithe frame, noticing suddenly how his arms were crossed just below his chest, pressing, as though to bring back the familiar weight there.

"Oh." Paul said, stupidly, his voice teetering on laughter that was half genuine and half a defense - wondering for a moment why Barry had decided to come here, rather than just stay on one of the couches in the recording room or anywhere else in this huge place.

"Can I stay here for a bit?" He sounded incredibly vulnerable, and Paul had been about to resist but now found that he couldn't. He smiled, a little forced, and moved over, still sitting up. "Yeah. Of course." _'No.'_ he thought. _'Paul… Barry, what are you doing?'_

Barry hesitated for a moment before he closed the door again, plunging them both into darkness until their eyes adjusted to the dim light coming from the window. Paul felt the bed dip slightly as Barry slid under the covers that he held up for him.

The younger boy lay almost stretched out on the bed, tense, Paul could tell without even touching him. "They're doing this at… four in the morning?" He asked, half jokingly.

"Hmm," Barry said, and Paul caught his eyes in the darkness, half his face shadowed in black from the light outside the window. The shadows enhanced Barry's too-hollow cheeks and the curve of his bottom lip against his chin and Paul glanced away for a moment.

Fuck, it had been almost a year since he'd had someone in his bed… or someone at all. He'd satisfied himself with thoughts, at first, of his last partner, wanker that he had been, he'd still been bloody _fucking_ gorgeous… but lately, he found his tongue wrapping around the words. "Oh, fuck, Barry," despite knowing since he'd met him and his brother that it could _never _happen… until several weeks ago.

'_No…'_

No, Barry wasn't like him. That was clear. Barry just wanted someone. He knew that. He wasn't about to take advantage of that, and not only that, but it would just raise complications if he voiced it at all, so he kept it to himself… except for that one kiss at the party… but they'd both been high. The observers, it seemed, had thought it was a joke, a party story that was forgotten the next morning. Except for Laura. She hadn't forgotten. He remembered the anger that had boiled up in his gut that morning when she'd caught him alone outside – asked him, straight out whether he had feelings for Barry – like it was any of her fucking business. He told her what he told himself back then. That he was high… and that, well, _sometimes_ there was that sometimes-overwhelming urge to protect him, but hell… it was Barry. Barry needed that, and besides Tom, sometimes there wasn't anyone there to do that.

"I do," Laura told him, and Paul 'accepted it,' just like Laura smiled and 'accepted' his feelings for Tom's brother. But he knew she didn't really. Just like she knew he wasn't telling her the extent of his feelings. And Paul saw how she and Tom would ignore Barry even before they were separated. Laura protected Barry _when it worked for her_. She didn't want anyone messing with her fucking relationships.

Her relationships. That was all that mattered. Laura, Laura, Laura… Laura who had taken Chris away from him… Laura who batted her eyelashes and promised a shag and got everything she wanted… Barry needed _his _protection. Paul's, and besides Tom, no matter _what _Laura said, sometimes there was no one there to do it. It wasn't as though he was overbearing. He'd done some stupid things lately. He knew that. Casual touches and things but that was just… that was nothing really…

He reached out and pushed Barry's hair back from his forehead, and that was what seemed to break through the surface of Barry's composure at that moment. Barry let out a sort of agonized breath and before Paul knew what had happened, before he could really move at all, Barry was pressed against him, getting a hold of his arm and crossing his own over it so that Paul was holding him from behind.

Nothing about this was sexual. Not even for Paul who desperately wanted a good shag at the moment, (and had for months), because Barry had buried his face against Paul's chest, and he could feel the younger boy's fist jammed uncomfortably between them, pressing against Barry's torso, just under the ribcage.

Paul relaxed, not even realizing he'd been tense until that moment. He stroked the younger boy's shoulder blade through his thin t-shirt and Barry turned his head slightly against Paul's bare chest.

And Paul found himself once again with his free hand in Barry's hair, playing with the unruly curls, twisting them around his fingers, pulling at them between his fingers, straightening them out, then letting go. It was surprising how Barry seemed to meld against him, or, well, perhaps not, considering the boy had been doing it all his life, and finding whatever ways he could to make it comfortable. Paul tried not to think of all the stupid, cliché poems and songs that talked about lovers who fit together like puzzle pieces – whose hearts beat simultaneously… After a while, the pressure of Barry's fist between them lessened as he relaxed.

"How are you?" Paul murmured into the darkness, against Barry's hair.

"Hnn?"

"Does it still hurt?" There was no point in pretending that the surgery never happened. That would not make the situation better.

Barry was silent for a long time, and Paul's stomach turned over slightly. "'Bit." Barry answered vaguely.

Carefully Paul pulled back a bit, and felt Barry stiffen against him until he realized the bassist wasn't pulling away completely. He slid his hand down, gripping the bottom of Barry's shirt and pushed it up, not touching his skin. He tilted his head down, his forehead almost against Barry's. When he finally did touch his stomach, not at the join but a little lower, he felt Barry's muscles spasm a little. He flinched away from the touch but Paul could see that he was watching his hand as it carefully, brushed its way up to the scar. Barry swallowed, closing his eyes as Paul ran his fingers over the raised half-circle of the scar – the part that would have killed him had it gone wrong – treacherous -, then the less-raised part where it had been easier to separate. He could feel the stitches, wire under his fingertips, and all of the skin there strangely warm.

Barry curled into himself a little more and Paul drew his hand away, reaching back up to his hair, pushing it back in that old, familiar gesture. Paul wasn't sure which one of them fell asleep first.

In the morning they were still entwined together like lovers. As soon as Barry began to stir, Paul felt his heart jump and he disconnected himself from the singer and dressed quickly.

"Where's Barry?" Tom asked, Laura at his side. They were eating eggs in a glass, but Tom had hardly touched his.

"He stayed in my room." Paul said non-chalant. He went out for breakfast, determined not to notice how the couple watched him until he had left the room altogether.

'They didn't have to take it like that.' He thought.


	2. Part Two

**SEPERATION ANXIETY**

Part Two

Paul didn't really think much of it, the fact that Barry had come to him that night, when Tom was with Laura. If he put himself in Barry's shoes – separated from someone he'd been beside his whole life and then having them not missing you as much as you missed them. That had to be hard.

Everyone noticed it, but as usual at Humbleden, no one mentioned it. The fact was that _their_ twins, if you could call them that, seemed to be growing apart. That Tom was spending less and less time with Barry now that he was sure that his brother was all right. Perhaps, Paul thought, it was because he was just taking this new freedom and getting over-excited like a little kid with birthday gifts. Gifts to be used for a few weeks, and then cast aside. Forgotten about. Of course, it wouldn't be that drastic. This was more of a life-changer than birthday gifts, and what with Laura for Tom to consider on one side and Barry on the other, surely things would balance out.

But the fact remained that Barry seemed more lonesome than ever... that was what really worried Paul. What would happen to him if Tom and Laura decided to move out in a few years? Get married maybe, have kids... what would happen to Barry then? Somehow, Paul knew that as much as Tom loved Barry, he and Laura weren't about to agree to bring him with them.

Paul wanted to help him. Fancied himself walking into the kitchen one morning, sitting down across from Barry and just spilling it all out. All his feelings and throwing him a lifeline. Pulling him from the water while Tom and Laura floated on, oblivious... what would Barry think of him then? Paul knew that he wouldn't be disgusted by the fact that Paul had feelings for him or for any males in general. Barry had seen him kissing men before – almost everyone at Humbleden had. No one really mentioned it. Paul never brought anyone home – didn't want to make anyone uncomfortable. Nick would get up in his face about it sometimes. Shove him around when he had an excuse for it, but other than that, nothing. And Paul wasn't about to worry about what Nick thought about him and his preferred partners.

Paul couldn't though – tell Barry all that. For one, not only would it be a burden – Paul didn't believe in telling people his feelings unless he thought that they might feel the same (and therefore Barry didn't qualify) and not only that, but Paul wasn't sure he could do this to himself again. Chris had been _It_, he thought. The real thing. The person he was willing to do anything for – go anywhere. And then...

He just wasn't sure he could handle it. Sometimes he felt that if he let one more person in so that they could tear his heart apart, fuck with his head like Laura and Chris had, he might just break. Mentally or physically, he didn't know.

And he certainly couldn't do that to Barry. The fact had already been established that Barry liked women. Barry liked Laura didn't he? Maybe not. Sometimes it seemed like he didn't. The way she took Tom from him the same way she had taken Chris from Paul. Sometimes Paul liked to think that he wasn't the only person in Humbleden who _wasn't_ attracted to her.

Paul told himself not to think too much about the way Barry had lain so close to him. That was just what Barry was used to. He tried not to consider how Barry had come to him _first._ To him _only._ He couldn't let himself take this and blow it out of proportion – because that was what he was doing – Barry _didn't_ like him and he could just go back to innocently fantasizing about him in peace, and nobody had to know.

Especially not Barry.

It was bad enough that Tom and Laura suspected him. He didn't want the two of them breathing down his neck every time he got near Baz. _Why's it any of their fucking business anyway? _But he knew why. They didn't want Barry with him for exactly the same reasons he didn't. Because it wasn't what Barry wanted and while it may have been what he needed – company, companionship – Paul wasn't the one to do it.

So when they were sitting on the couch together, outside the recording room, Paul was doing what he normally did: Smile. Act normal. Pretend that nothing was troubling him. Nothing was wrong. _Don't want to fucking upset anybody_.

He knew he probably watched Barry more than was... considered normal. But no one really cared. Barry didn't care. In fact, Paul was sure that Barry liked it. He was so starved for love and attention that sometimes it was alarming. How was it possible that Tom had become so independent, even when they were joined together, and Barry was left with his heart racing with anxiety every time Tom showed interest in someone else? A silent threat to leave him; and even if Tom didn't think of it that way, Barry did.

"_Left out to dry, it's cold and it's dark and I'm reeling"_

Those lyrics haunted Paul. He worried about Baz far too much, but it was easier to worry about that than to worry about his own problems. But he _wanted_ to help Barry. But what could he do really, except just be there when Baz didn't have anyone.

At the moment Barry was dragging on his cigarette, staring off into space, his long legs rising off of the short couch, one shaking absently. Even when he was calm he seemed to exude a sort of restlessness sometimes. Often, it seemed to roll off of him in waves. Paul could see, even if he didn't want to, why Tom would want a separation. Being so close to Barry all the time could be nerve-wracking. Stressful.

He immediately felt horrible for thinking that at all and he shifted uncomfortably. "Want to go for a walk?"

Immediately, Barry stabbed out his smoke and stood up. Paul looked up at him, surprised with his readiness, but didn't say anything of it.

There was no question about it, the Humbleden grounds were beautiful. If you went around the back of it and walked through a coppice a ways you came to a lake that was relatively difficult to get to, but once you made your way through all the brambles and overhanging branches, it was worth the effort.

"It's a huge house, I still get claustrophobic in there sometimes," Paul said as he settled himself on a smooth rock on the shore.

Barry lingered behind him, watching as Paul searched through the dirt beside him for a rock which he skipped across the water. He glanced back at Barry just enough to catch his eye, laugh softly.

Barry liked being alone with Paul. Paul was quiet and calming, which could be a rarity at Humbleden. Paul was different. It was easy to hang around with Tommy... or it had been. But he'd been so used to that, that it was just like... just like being alone sometimes.

Or that _was_ what he'd thought before he really found out what alone felt like. It was one thing to be emotionally alone – but to be both. Emotionally and physically all at once. Then there was nothing to distract him from that familiar voice in his head – whispering in his ear._ No, no, no, don't think about that._

Paul heard Barry come up from behind him, his hip brush lightly against his shoulder as he stood beside him.

It was moments like these where Paul relaxed the rules and boundaries he'd set for himself. There was no one watching. No one around to criticize or watch him like he was a child that might run off. He reached up and gently tugged the younger boy down beside him on the rock. Just friendship – nothing more. That line would not be crossed.

As Paul pulled his hand away from Barry's sleeve, Barry twisted his wrist around, his fingers brushing Paul's firmly enough that it was very clear that it wasn't an accident.

Paul's eyes moved from their hands to Barry's face and back again. Barry's elegant fingers brushed over his knuckles and Paul's stomach jolted a little, remembering his dream. The way the blood and tissue had caked onto Barry's normally pale skin – staining it. The urge to make sure that Barry was okay – to have a spoken, honest reassurance was almost overwhelming all of a sudden. Barry's thumb brushed over Paul's wrist and his thoughts fractured a tiny bit. He watched Barry turn his hand over. The singer was staring at it intently as though looking for something.

"What are you doing, Baz?" Paul asked, his tone light, simply curious. Not revealing anything more than he wanted it to.

"Dunno," he answered quietly, almost singsong. Paul stiffened. He pulled his hand away, shifting around so that he was looking out over the water. He tried to ignore the way that Barry watched him for a moment before looking down, troubled.

Fuck. Fuck, he'd hurt him. He was so fragile – unpredictable.

"Ever been swimming?" A change of topic – anything to backtrack, make it better.

Barry's mood changed in an instant. "You want to go swimming with me, Paul?" That cocky, shit-disturbing grin.

He didn't even have time to respond. He watched as Barry stood, shamelessly, if not a little self-consciously pulled his sweater over his head – beautiful, slightly too-slender, pale skin, lightly muscled torso. Paul swallowed, but didn't look away. He also pretended not to notice the way Barry watched him – watching for a reaction. He was fucking perfect. Even with the pink, uneven flesh of the scar – the stitches holding it all together.

"Barry-" Paul exclaimed as he stood, half laughing, intending to start back to the house. "I'm not going in, it's got to be freezing."

Barry's elegant fingers were on the knot of Paul's tie before Paul even knew what was happening. The younger boy slipped the knot down, pulled it up and over his head. Barry heard his name come out of Paul's mouth again, this time with a hint of warning.

"What?" Accusation. That was what was in those intense blue eyes. Paul found himself shutting his mouth. God, he was in way too fucking deep.

"Don't be a pussy," Barry's lips turned up in a grin as he spoke and despite the insult, Paul couldn't hold back his own small smile.

"You're not going in either."

"I am. I am!" he repeated when Paul shook his head.

"Look, Baz, I don't think it's a good idea." He was dead serious now. Barry noted the concern in his voice, but that didn't stop his fingers on Paul's shirt buttons now, undoing them quickly. "Why not?"

Paul reached up and grabbed Barry's wrists, one in each hand. "I'm—It's just not a good idea. I don't want anything to happen to you." _Too blatant._ Paul thought a moment later. _Could I be any _more_ obvious?_

Barry's face changed. Softened. "What would?"

Paul took in the situation. Barry, shirtless, standing before him with his hands on the last few buttons of Paul's shirt, Paul's hands over his wrists. When he spoke again, his voice shook a little. "I don't-"

"What?" Barry's eyes moved away from Paul's for a moment, his head tilting to the right. "What?" His eyes snapped back to Paul's. "You don't want anything to happen to the fucking band, right? I'm right, Paul, huh? It's already fucked up enough now that Tommy and me aren't gonna make a big show anymore, hmm? Not working out like you and Zak planned, is it? And Nick's probably gonna take it out on me soon as he can and I'd—shut up!" Paul started a little. He hadn't made to say anything.

"It's not my fault, Paul, okay? I didn't even want this! Tommy wanted it! I didn't want that operation; I don't even want to be here! I want to go back to the Head, Paul! I want to go home. And I wish he'd never met Laura, and he doesn't tell me things anymore... I don't want to do it anymore, be in the band and have everyone just-"

He was sobbing now, hunched over a little. He'd pulled his wrists from Paul's loosened grasp and was trying, unsuccessfully to keep the tears from running down his face. He kept talking, but his breath was so torn, and he was gasping so much that Paul couldn't even make out what he was saying.

He found himself talking softy – his hands on Barry's shoulders, on his wrists, pushing them down, tugging them gently away from his face, wiping the tears away. "Shh, Baz... Barry, oh, hey... shh, hey, no, no, no, don't."

Before he knew it, he'd pulled the younger boy in his arms, his hands tangled up in Baz's hair which he loved so much. "It's okay," he told him, over and over. "It'll be fine."

"No it won't."

"No, love, listen t-" the word slipped from his lips before he noticed. Far too late for him to stop it. His heart skipped and his stomach plummeted. Barry gave a slight hiccup, trying to pull away from the older man, but Paul's arms tensed, one sliding down his back to hold him where he was.

Because he didn't have enough time to cover for it. To think of an excuse – a facial expression that would just dismiss it.

They were close enough that Paul could feel the steel of Barry's stitches through his silk shirt. His heart pounding. He stroked his hair softly, staring over his shoulder. _Oh, shit..._

They stood there for a long time. That one word had quieted Barry, but his breath continued to come in gasps and shakes. The sun was setting by the time they pulled apart. A twilight had settled around them, the only trace of sun was just a line of butter-coloured light over the trees on the other side of the lake.

"Do you want to go back?" Paul asked him. His arms felt different. Like they were full of air now that they weren't around Barry's too-thin waist. Not only had the drugs taken their toll, but he hadn't been eating right since the operation.

Barry didn't move. Didn't say anything. Paul has already started moving back, but when he turned back to see Barry standing there, shirtless in the sand, in the blue light. So much smaller looking without Tom. Paul stopped; were you still a Siamese twin if you were separated?

"Do you love me, Paul?"

His heart clenched Yes. Y_es, oh _God_, yes, _he thought, even as he opened his mouth to deny it, but he couldn't. Couldn't lie. But he couldn't tell him either. A few meaningless noises escaped him, but then he just cocked his head and smiled a little. A soft breath of a laugh.

Barry knew he wasn't going to get an answer to that question. "Can I stay with you again tonight?"

"Yeah, yes of course." Paul couldn't deny him anything now. He moved back to him, gathered his sweater back up off of the shore and handed it back to him. He watched as Barry pulled it on, dishevelling his hair, passing his hand over his face once more. He looked tired. Paul had to refrain from taking him in his arms again.

Paul didn't even bother removing his shirt or jeans when they got back to his room. Barry's sweater was damp now, and full of sand, so he took it off before climbing into Paul's bed. He was cold, and Paul wasn't touching him now. Paul hadn't touched him since the lake. Carefully, tentatively he reached out for Paul's arm. The bassist didn't hold back. Didn't resist, and soon he was tucked into his chest again, Paul's arm resting over his ribcage. It Barry titled his head up, their faces would only be centimetres away from each other.

_No, love, listen..._

He wondered if he was right about Paul. He had always suspected something – that Paul liked him like _that_, but liking someone and loving them was different. Tom and Laura loved each other. He and Tom had... had _had..._

Barry was sick of needing everyone, and so now the question was: What could he do to get Paul to need _him?_

If someone needed him, he was guaranteed never to be alone again.


	3. Part Three

**SEPERATION ANXIETY**

Part Three

"Laura?"

She jumped and spun around quickly, silhouetted by the window behind her. It was very early. Outside, the sky was grey and just barely lit the room.

"Barry," she half laughed. "You scared me."

He sat down at the table and she joined him a moment later, holding a cup of steaming coffee. "Sorry. What's the matter?" Barry asked, "Why are you down here this early?" What if Tom and her had gotten into a fight? That would mean that it would go back to being just him and Tommy again.

"Oh, I just couldn't sleep." She answered, tilting her head a little so her hair swung into her face and smiling at him. Barry didn't smile back. He looked down at the table, began to run his fingers over the uneven surface as he searched for a way to word his question.

He'd been trying to get Laura alone for weeks so he could talk to her. It was surprisingly difficult.

"How l-" he began, and stopped, his gaze flickering to hers. She was looking a little worried, watching him intently. "How long were Paul and Chris Dervish together?"

She leaned back, her look of concern changing smoothly to one of surprise. "Why?" The smile didn't hide the suspicion in her tone so Barry shrugged, disinterestedly. "Dunno. Just curious, I s'pose."

"A year... maybe a little less than that."

"That's longer than you and Tommy." Barry pointed out. He saw her brow furrow out of the corner of his eye as he picked up an ashtray and proceeded to fiddle with it.

"Yes, I suppose it is." There was a long pause, and then, "Why are you asking this, all of a sudden?"

"What happened?" Barry asked, speaking over her.

Laura cocked her head. "What was Paul telling you?"

"Nothin'. That's why I'm asking you, Laura."

"Well, they were... they were together for quite a long time, and then Chris killed himself... I-"

"Why's that?"

Laura shrugged, shifting uncomfortable. "Drugs, maybe. Probably."

"You were with him too though, weren't you?"

"Wha- For a short time, yes. Barry, where's all this-" She was getting flustered.

"Was that before or after he was with Paul?"

Laura stopped midsentence, staring at him. "I don't know what's-"

"Or during?"

There was a very long silence. The tension in the air was practically visible. When he finally looked up at her, she was staring at him. She shook her head, grabbed the handle of her cup and stood up, angry, "I'm not going to answer your questions, Barry."

Barry had done his research, quietly, searching through Paul's old Noize albums, reading little bits of things inside the records, in the old magazine articles still lying around the house. The lyrics of the songs... The few mentions of Chris that he remembered from conversations. He knew that Paul and Chris Dervish had been together. He also knew that Laura had been with him. Gossip traveled fast at Humbleden, and with people like Nick about who never turned down a reason to talk bad about someone (especially Laura) Barry had learned enough to know that Laura liked to fuck up relationships. He'd learned that first-hand.

"Don't think Tommy knows about you and Chris." Barry said, his eyes on her back as she washed her mug out in the sink.

"It's none of your business what goes on between Tom and me," she said, rounding on him.

Barry stared at her. His hand was clenching the ashtray so hard that it was surprising it didn't break. Laura sighed and looked away out the window. "Why do you want to know all of this?"

"I want to know why Paul's not with anyone."

"Why?" She was looking at him with interest now.

"...Dunno."

Laura watched Barry, who had pushed the ashtray away from him and was staring at the floor, looking pensive, but also worried. She'd suspected this for a long time. She knew how vulnerable Barry was and ever since the party she had had a bad feeling about Barry and Paul. She knew, even if Paul had denied it, that he felt something for Barry. That kiss? They may have been high, but all the 'casual' touches. The way Paul was looking at Barry _every_ single time she looked at him. And why wouldn't he? Barry was a lovely boy who craved attention that Paul was more than willing to give...

Laura considered him for a moment. She didn't want Barry and Paul to start anything. For Barry to be with Paul, it would distract Tom, because she knew that he didn't want it either. He knew better than anyone – perhaps even better than Barry himself, what Barry needed and he knew that it wasn't a good idea for Barry to start getting ideas about Paul... and Laura couldn't have that.

She walked back around the table and sat down across from Barry again, who glanced up at her, feigning disinterest, but he couldn't hide the anticipation in his eyes.

"Paul and Chris got on very well together right from the beginning. Chris was a little wild, and I think that that excited Paul, because he'd always been so... so innocent, or something.

Barry half smiled, searching her face for any trace of a lie. She continued on: telling Barry how Chris was really the one who had opened the door into the world of sex, drugs, and rock and roll for Paul. They experimented together, but Chris's experimentation went a little too far. While Chris and Paul shot up together every once in a while, Chris was the one who got carried away, and Paul the one with the level head. Paul was the one who stayed up with Chris during his many withdrawals and recuperations, but despite all of this, Chris killed himself anyway.

"Everyone thought they had something, and no one knew how mixed up Chris got with the drugs and things," Laura explained, "But one night, when Paul was out and Chris came to me because he was sick, we just... there was just a connection, that was all. At first we didn't really do anything about it. We didn't mention anything to Paul because we both thought it was just a one-time thing, and nothing had _really_ happened, you know, but then it happened again...and... I really thought... you know, that Chris and I... he was the closest I'd ever gotten to a real relationship at that point – I know better than that now - " she assured Barry before she continued, "but eventually it turned into something more, and then Paul found out, and then it was just kind of... out in the open that Chris and I were together and Paul and him weren't anymore. It was a mature decision, and Paul accepted it. Paul's not... you know, he'll get into a relationship but it's not as big as he makes it out to be... Chris wasn't really... it wasn't like I was taking away anything really. Not on purpose. It just happened."

She shrugged. End of story. Barry ran a hand through his hair, still not looking at her.

"Oh."

"Tom knows." It wasn't the truth. It was the first time she'd ever out and out lied to Barry, and she felt a twinge of guilt, but she had to protect her relationship with Tom, and she would tell him, eventually, when she worked out exactly how she wanted to do it. She didn't want to hurt him.

Barry met her eyes and she quickly looked away as though she was afraid he would be able to read the lie there in her face. "You should go back up to bed, it's cold down here," she told him, looking back once she was sure he'd looked away.

"Are you going to tell me why you wanted to know all this?"

Barry shook his head. "No reason, really."

Laura knew that it was partly selfishness that made her tell Barry everything like that. She knew that Chris and Paul's relationship had been much more than she made it out to be, but it was all in the past now. She also knew Paul didn't want anyone to know and so the more insignificant she made it sound, the less likely Barry was to tell Paul anyway, because if she asked him to not tell, she knew he probably would. That was just how Barry was. She was doing Paul a favour. And besides, she'd claimed them first. She was in love with Tom, yes. Very much so. It wasn't a wild relationship like the type she had with Chris – sneaking around – fucking, once, in the middle of the night against a wall in the hallway while Paul slept in his and Chris's bed one room down, it was more real than that. More solid. She wasn't going to have Paul take Barry away from her Tom because then Tom might choose his brother over her, and leave. No, she couldn't let that happen. And technically, she'd been more sexual with Barry than Paul ever had, so...

And anyway, she didn't want to be the bad guy. People already judged her enough.

Paul woke up early, partially from the cold. Barry's side was empty – and _no_ it wasn't Barry's side... Shivering he sat up and ran a hand through his hair, which had been sticking up slightly. He clasped his hands between his knees and leaned forward over his legs. His eyes passed over the room, taking in the familiar details. It was actually quite plain. Bed, bookshelf that probably harboured more beer bottles and ashtrays now than books, rubbish bin, little table, cluttered with plectrums and some spare change and other various bits and bats. That was it. That and the clutter of papers and records all over the floor. Yawning, he stood. Barry hadn't closed the door when he left. Paul wondered vaguely when that had been. Usually Baz slept later than he did. Or maybe that was just because Tom stayed in bed longer.

The two of them nearly collided in the hallway. Paul's hand flew to Barry's shoulders, holding him away to keep from crashing into him. They both swore at the same time, and then Paul laughed quietly, glancing down the hallway towards Nick's room, hoping they hadn't woken him.

"Where are you going?" Paul whispered, "Are you all right?" His own heart was racing. He hadn't expected anyone else to be up at this hour.

"Back to bed," Barry answered. Paul didn't cotton on for a moment, then he froze. "We might have to find you a room of your own, if Laura and T-"

"She's not in there. She was in the kitchen."

"Well then you-"

"I want to stay with you. I don't want to go back to our room."

'Our room,' he still called it that, even in his head, even though he hardly spent any time there at all now. Only when he had to. He didn't like being around Tom and Laura. They ignored him... discluded him, and it was easy for them... he hated it. Hated them for it.

He still slept there at night, when he wasn't with Paul. In all honesty, the thought of sleeping alone out on one of the couches in the house terrified him... it was like... without someone breathing near him, the darkness pressed in, smothered him – opened his mind more than it should be to Him, because there was nothing else there.

"Okay," Paul said, collecting himself. "You can stay if you want." He let go of Baz's shoulders and moved to go down the stairs. Barry's voice stopped him. "Where are you going?" he asked softly.

Paul stopped on third step down and turned to look back at him, his hand on the railing.

"Come back to bed with me..." Barry's stomach turned over as he said it. He wasn't sure why. "C'mon, Paul, it's cold."

"That's why I was going downstairs." It was a bad excuse, and knew it.

"S' cold down there too," Barry stated.

There was a long hesitation. A clock somewhere could be heard ticking. It sounded very loud in the stillness of the morning. Barry shifted his weight from foot to foot, watching him, his arms crossed over his stomach, frowning.

"Okay." Paul finally said, even as his brain told him to say no.

The two of them climbed back into the bed, Barry tunnelling down under the sheets until they almost reached his nose, and was asleep within minutes. Paul, however, laid awake with the comforting pressure of Barry's legs against his. His soft breathing.

(_This isn't good.)_ Paul thought. _(This is the last time this can happen.)_

It was with that promise in his head that he fell asleep again.

When Barry opened his eyes for the second time the morning, Paul was still asleep, on his back, his face turned away. Carefully, Barry pushed himself up on one elbow and looked him over. He was attractive enough, for a guy, Barry thought, taking in his high cheekbones. Pale skin against dark hair and blue eyes that, when opened, were actually quite startling against his complexion. He didn't really look like a queer Barry thought. No more than Spitz or Nick or anyone did.

Barry didn't know what he was supposed to look for... to tell if he really was in love with someone, and the thought didn't really bother him. All he wanted was _someone_. Paul could do that. He knew that he wanted that now. Paul was much better than nothing, and he was... if Barry could chose, it would be Paul that he chose to stay with him. Paul was honest and good and loved him.

Barry swallowed, biting the inside of his cheek. He felt a built guilty – Tom was the only one he loved... it had always just been him and Tom, and then it was Robbie and Da'... but they'd been kind of on the outside... And to be in love with someone was different, wasn't it? Looking at Tom and Laura... it was like nothing mattered anymore to Tom... just her.

Not Barry anymore... _Fuck!_

Barry blinked, things coming back into focus, realizing he was letting himself slip away again. Tentatively he raised his hand and brushed his fingers over Paul's hair, pushing it away from his face.

When Paul opened his eyes, it wasn't really that he was awake. Someone was running their fingers through his hair. _Who...?_ The hand, warm, slipped to his face and then someone was kissing him. He turned towards the warm body on the bed, kissing back. It was slow, sleepy. _Chris..._ he thought... but Chris's hands had always been cold.

Barry felt a shiver in his stomach when Paul's mouth opened under his, but as soon as it had started, Paul had jerked back, startling him.

"Barry!" the name came out sharply, much harder than he'd meant it to in his realization. "What-?" Fully awake now, his hand come up to his own face pushing the heel of his hand over one eye and then into his hair, not looking at the other boy. _Fuck, fuck, fuck._ "What are you doing?"

This wasn't right. Barry didn't like the way Paul's voice sounded. Almost like he was angry. He sat up as Paul climbed over him in one swift moment and made a sort of pacing circle around the room, his hand still raised to his head.

"Paul-" Barry began, feeling his stomach clench with worry. Paul finally stopped and looked at him. "What are you doing, Baz?"

"I really like you Paul..." The words were out of his mouth before he had too much time to think about them. He relaxed a little bit. There. That part was over.

But Paul shook his head. "No you don't." _I should have realized..._

Barry's eyes narrowed a little. "How do you know?"

"You're not-" Paul lowered his voice slightly. He wasn't going to be able to do this if he was freaking out. He took a breath and slowly lowered his hand. "No, Barry."

"Yes I do."

"Baz, no."

"Don't... fucking tell me what-"

"You're not gay, _all right?_"

"So?" That comment startled him. Barry was looking at him, half entangled in the sheets, glaring at him defiantly. _So?_

"I need a cigarette." He was shaking, oh God, as he fumbled for his fags, placing one in his mouth and looking around desperately for matches.

"Paul..." Barry tried. No reaction. "Paul!" He watched Paul's hands shake as he lit the cigarette and shook the match out, placing it on his bookshelf. It was only then that his blue eyes fell on the singer.

"I'm not like Chris."

Paul nearly dropped his cigarette as his mouth fell open. "What have you been-"

"Laura told me. Found out some for myself"

_That fucking bitch._

"Yeah, well, Laura's account of the story is a little warped." Paul muttered, looking away.

"He was stupid..." Paul's eyes flickered to Barry, so he continued. "He shouldn't have left you."

Paul's heart actually twisted, and he turned away, cigarette between his lips. He began to undo the buttons of his shirt, searching the room with his eyes for a clean one as he did so.

"I won't leave you, Paul." Paul squeezed his eyes closed reaching up to remove the smoke and press his hand to his mouth for a long moment. This actually, physically _hurt._ He hadn't realized how much he wanted it until the words were out in the air between them. And they weren't real... that was the problem. They were just words, and while they might not be empty promises, Barry just couldn't know what he was promising.

When he trusted himself to speak, it was because he heard the bedsprings squeak, and he needed to say something before Barry brought this all any further.

"No." He turned back to him. Barry, the morning sun on his bare torso, hair mussed up from sleep. "We can't do this, Baz."

"Why?"

"I just explained it to you! And Laura shouldn't have told you anything, it wasn't any of your business." Paul was getting more and more desperate. He actually retreated to the corner of his room, away from Barry and grabbed a white shirt from the floor, pulling it on and doing it up. He could hardly get his fingers to work.

"I only-"

"I don't care!" Paul snarled at him. He could tell Barry was startled but he didn't care. He was angry at himself for letting it go this far. For not taking all the fucking warning signs seriously. For letting Barry stay with him at night. That wasn't fixing things, it was making them worse because now Baz was resorting to drastic measures to make sure that Paul continued to let him... he knew that. It was obvious, and he couldn't even hate Barry for it because Barry had no clue, really, what he was doing.

"Look, Baz, I'm sorry. I can't. I really can't, okay? Not with you."

"What?"

"Not like this. I don't... I'm not letting you do this."

"What?" Barry asked softly, almost to himself.

"There's someone out there who's going to be a lot better than me, I can guarantee you," Paul said, forcing himself to smile.

"He says-" Barry began, then hesitated for a moment, his eyes moving back and forth, his brow furrowing. "I know... He says you're lying Paul. You don't want me to go look for someone else, you want me all for yourself, don't you, Paul?"

Paul had to admit that this frightened him. The fact that it wasn't insanity that Barry was facing, it was something real, alive, that spoke to him. Something that knew things that it shouldn't... "I'm not lying," he said anyway.

"He says you are."

"He... he says lots of things, Baz..."

Barry watched the other man for a long moment, letting everything fade back into the place, until the voice was gone. He took a step closer to Paul, who had nowhere to go, already almost against the wall.

"I think you should let me." Paul turned his face away as Barry's hands fell on his arms, pulling him closer. Paul resisted, so Barry closed the space between them. "No one even has to know about it..."

"That's not the point-"

But Barry's mouth was on his, and he just let it happen.


	4. Part Four

**SEPARATION ANXIETY**

Part Four

Paul's plan was that he would let Barry go with this. Let him do what he wanted, within reason, until he realized that this really wasn't what he wanted. And then things could all go back to normal. Paul wouldn't let himself get attached any more than he already was. He wouldn't get his hopes up..., and maybe through all of this he could get this fascination with Barry out of his system and actually move on. Find someone who _was_ gay and _would_ stay with him, no matter what the Laura Ashworth's of the world promised him.

Paul lay on his bed, staring at his ceiling, mulling all of this over. Whatever happened, he would not have sex with Barry. That was just taking it too far. It wasn't necessary. He doubted this _'relationship' _would last that long anyway. All it would take, Paul thought, was some groupie Barry happened to spot in the crowd. A pretty girl who wouldn't abandon him. Then this whole thing would be forgotten.

He was almost asleep when he heard the mattress springs creaking. Barry slipped in beside him, murmuring his name into his ear. He'd taken to staying with him every night. Sometimes they were more innocent than others... the nights when Paul would have to hold himself back because Barry was trying to coax a stronger reaction from him more and more.

Barry astonished him sometimes. Both him and Tom. With their willingness to do anything. Their naivety to the world that made them so much bolder. Acting on impulse as opposed to the rules of society.

Barry had to staying with him every night. Paul heard Tom ask Barry that afternoon where he slept now, but Barry just shrugged, without even looking at him and said "Doesn't matter, does it?"

Tom looked away, went back to talking to Nick... _Doesn't matter_.

Paul noticed Barry's eyes on Tom, silently asking him why he didn't press the subject. Make it matter.

Tom didn't.

Paul watched as Barry sat up and pulled his shirt over his head before settling down again. He reached across Paul's chest with one arm, resting on his elbow, his hand loosely fisted beside Paul's shoulder and they locked gazes for a moment. Paul always looked so sad now, Barry thought. He wanted to fix it, but Paul wouldn't tell him what was the matter. He tried again anyway.

"What is it?"

"What?"

"What's wrong?"

Paul shook his head. Barry hadn't expected anything more. "You can tell me," he whispered, his mouth almost brushing Paul's lips. Paul closed his eyes. He never started anything. Never touched Barry anymore unless Barry did first. It frustrated him. He didn't understand why Paul was becoming more distant when he'd brought himself so much closer.

After a moment, Barry pulled away. Paul's eyes opened again and he looked over. He immediately felt bad. He didn't know what else to do.

He made an effort to act normal in front of the others. Barry didn't seem to care. He didn't exactly follow Paul around, but he always seemed to be nearby. Every time Paul looked up, Barry's eyes would be on him.

Two weeks later, they were sitting on the couch outside the recording room again. It was becoming almost natural. Sometimes they would just sit here together, waiting... About an hour after the halls quieted down and everyone was in their rooms or out of the halls they would go up to Paul's room. Or more often, Barry would carefully push open the door of Paul's room and climb into bed beside him. Paul`s affection and touches came easier without him even realizing it. His hand loosely holding Barry`s hip as they slept, running carefully over and around the scar as the talked quietly about nothing, about chords and stupid songs and good songs. Skirting around Tom and Laura with a skill they`d seemed to acquire in a matter of days, and talking about Nick behind his back. It was all innocent fun though. Neither of them really hated Nick. He was just hard to get along with and easy to talk about. Paul felt he learned more about Barry just by watching his face as he ran his fingers over his bare skin when they talked than he had since he`d met him.

Sometimes they would have to muffle their laughter in the sheets or with their hands. It was- Paul _loved _it. Barry was beautiful. He laughed again, he was happier. Maybe this hadn`t been as bad as Paul had first thought.

Paul didn`t notice he was getting his hopes up.

Barry`s were so high that it was impossible to turn back. He couldn`t even _look_ back. If he did, he would drown, or something horrible would happen – he would turn to stone or Paul would crumble into dust along with this room – Humbleden... just like in the faerie tales Robbie used to read to them.

And so it was, one night that they were laying together, talking softly, Paul's fingers lightly running down Barry's arm, over his stomach and back again, making him sleepy, that they lapsed into silence. They had lost eye contact some time ago as they spoke, gazing idly around the darkened room, at the shadows on the ceiling - when Barry reached out, at random, and touched Paul's jaw line lightly. Their eyes met and the realization of what they were doing, the whole thing – this whole fucked up business – seemed to set in for both of them at exactly the same time. Paul half expected Barry to pull away, and Barry expected Paul to do the same. Neither of them moved, frozen in the moment. For a long minute it _was_ like they'd been turned to stone, but then Paul's eyes darted between his own and, to Barry's surprise, leaned forward and kissed him.

He was only shocked for a second however, before he took the moment, as he so often did, and ran with it. He pulled himself closer, ignoring the pull of his skin against the stitches that were supposed to come off soon, and kissed Paul harder. He felt one of Paul's hands clutch suddenly and almost painfully at his hip before reaching up to grip his hair, keeping him down. There was desperation there, for both of them. It was like they could taste it. Like for one clear moment it was tangible how different they both were. Paul's hands hard against his body for the first time – needing him, and Barry clutching at Paul's shirt as though he would disappear.

"Ah, fuck," Paul whimpered almost helplessly against Barry's mouth as he sat up against Barry, their chests pressed together. Everything before this suddenly seemed so much more innocent, and Barry wondered why they hadn't done this before... this was so much fucking better. The intensity of it. He could feel Paul's need for him and _that_ was what he'd wanted.

It was like they couldn't get close enough. Paul practically had Barry bent backwards, his own hands up the back of Paul's shirt. He could feel him shaking. That was strange. When he thought of this, he never expected it to be... it was so completely different from what he'd thought it would be. He wanted to protect Paul, suddenly, stop the shuddering under his skin, but at the same time, he didn't want it to stop. Physical proof that it meant something.

But suddenly Paul was pushing him away, gently, saying something that Barry couldn't register for a moment. Once Paul had untangled himself, pulled away, far enough so that they weren't touching at all Barry realized that the words had been "Stop, stop, stop." He hadn't quite realized how cold the room was until now.

Baz watched as Paul inhaled shakily and then let it out in on long, low stream. "Okay... no." He said after a moment, watching Barry for something – a sign – what he was feeling. When he got none, he continued, "This isn't... _this_ isn't going to happen, all right?"

"Why not?" he asked, half pouting, half pissed off. He watched Paul half smile at him, but he didn't say anything. Just huffed another sigh and pressed his fingers briefly against the bridge of his nose. "Baz..."

"No, _why_, Paul?" his tone had changed and he watched Paul, without remorse struggle with his words, stuttering slightly, but not getting anything out.

He hesitated a moment, frustrated anger settled in his stomach. For a moment, he pushed away the voice, but then he didn't care anymore. Why wasn't this _working_?

He reached out, impulsively and touched Paul's cheek but Paul pulled back. Surprising himself, Barry leaned forward and slid his fingers into Paul's hair, pulling him forward and kissing him, hard. It wasn't impassioned. Far from it. It was to cause pain. Barry wanted to stop. Couldn't.

He felt the bassist stiffen violently against him, his hands connecting with Barry's chest and shoving him away. The look on his face: fear, hurt, shock... Barry hated it and he pushed himself away from the other man, drawing his legs to his chest and burying his face in his knees. _Shut up, shut up, shut up!_

He wanted Tommy here. Tom always knew what to do. How to drown Him out... Why wasn't he just fucking_ here?_

"Baz." Paul's voice came to him dully at first. Hands on his shoulders, he didn't look up. "Baz, I'm sorry." _Why are you apologizing?_ "Barry?"

Barry raised his head, but didn't look at him. He focused on a bottle on the bookcase, inhaling roughly through his nose. Paul's hands slid from his shoulders.

"It's nothing," he found himself saying. Because this was their secret. His and Tom's. No one was supposed to know about it. "It's nothing, it's..." he heaved another sigh, finally finding Paul's face again. He was watching him closely. Barry looked away again. Paul couldn't understand. "Nothing."

A long moment passed, neither of them moved or spoke, until Paul finally, carefully, raised his hand, not enough to touch Barry, but almost, "Come here."

He listened, because he didn't know what else to do. Paul's arm was around his shoulders, briefly, in his hair and they were laying down again. He wanted to turn away from Paul – show him how frustrated he was that he couldn't get Paul to fucking... just need him _all the time_ like he needed everyone else. He was holding him at arm's length and Barry _hated_ it. But he couldn't turn away, because the prospect of letting the voice win. He, that wanted to hurt Paul and was using Barry to do it... Him that wanted Barry all to himself... _Aah! God! _

So Barry curled into himself, against Paul's chest and thought the lyrics of their songs over and over in his head until he fell asleep.

Paul's arms weren't as comforting as they normally were.

That episode had frightened Paul. They always worried him and interested him all at once, but to have an attack like that. A physical one aimed at him...

He couldn't hold it against Baz. He never had, never would. He'd been hurt before, but he just told himself that it wasn't Barry's fault... Laughed it off. No one thought any more of it.

Barry was quieter than usual all the next day, and the day after that. Not speaking much. The laughing, joking Baz that Paul had begun to uncover had faded again, and Tom noticed it. What was unnerving was that Tom's eyes on him told him that he suspected something. Tom wasn't stupid. He guessed at where Barry went every night.

It surprised Barry when Tom accosted him rather late one night just at the bottom of the stairs from Paul's room, and pulled him close, hands on his shoulders. It wasn't quite an embrace, but it started an ache for that closeness in Barry's chest and he found himself unable to look at his brother.

Tom's familiar voice in his ear. He realized how long it had been since they'd been alone together. Since Tom had spoken only and directly to him."What's the matter, Barry?"

He almost broke down and cried right there, but he just bit hard on the inside of his cheek for a moment until the urge subsided. He shrugged, eyes on the ground somewhere behind Tom. "Nothing, nothing's wrong."

Tom's hands tightened for the briefest of moments. "Don't lie to me." The urgency in his voice startled Barry into looking at him. Tom didn't look away. He held his eyes for a long moment. "Why d'you think something's wrong, Tommy?"

What could he tell him? Tell him what he told Paul back at the lake?

"Don't," was all his twin said. Barry knew exactly what he meant... _Don't lie to me. Don't shut me out._ But there was no apology.

"How's Laura?" _So there. Do you understand yet?_

"She's fine. You should come and talk to us." _Don't be so selfish, Barry._

_Us. Like they're a unit._

For the first time, Tom's eyes flickered towards the stairs. "How's Paul?"_ What's going on?_

"You should come and talk to us." Barry circled the conversation back. Overlapped it. Like them. Like everything.

Tom smiled, tilting his head to the side a little, but it wasn't in amusement.

"Are you going to tell me?" _You always tell me everything._

Barry looked him right in the eyes. _No_.

Tom held his eyes for a long moment, for a mirror image. He pulled away – shattered the connection.

But he understood.

This wasn't just his brother being defiant.

But even with this. This fragile stance that Barry had created, he had only succeeded in creating a barrier... Tom turned and walked away, disappearing down the stairs. Barry heard Laura say, "What's wrong?"

Tom murmured something back. Their voices faded.

Barry stood alone long after that point. He wasn't quite sure what had happened. No matter what he did, he was just fucking everything up.

_Un... Barry... me..._

_Are you happy now, Tommy?_

He just needed Paul... to gain his trust back – to figure out how to keep Paul with him. That was all.

_It's not working though... Paul doesn't need you, just like Tommy didn't... Paul needs Chris... Can't you see? Paul needs a dead man more than you... Amounts to nothing... Nothing..._

_No. Not listening!_


	5. Part Five

**SEPARATION ANXIETY **

Part Five

Barry made his way down the stairs a little unsteadily. He staggered sideways and had to grip the railing with both hands for a moment. It rattled, loosely against the wall, but no one came to see what the racket was... they didn't care.

He wasn't even sure where he was going as he made his way downstairs to the basement. He could sleep there tonight. If he left a light on, no one would be bothered by it... no one would come looking for him anyway. Paul would probably think he'd given up... Tom would think he was in Paul's room... Barry had thought, vaguely, that his brother had probably guessed...

But Tommy still had no idea what went on...

Barry hesitated at the top of the stairs leading into the basement. They were illuminated dimly from the hall behind him, his shadow spreading impossibly large to blend into the pitch darkness of the bottom of them. Why did the fucking light have to be at the bottom?

He stepped down onto the first step, ignoring the adrenaline flare up in his chest, telling him to turn, go back into the lightness of the hall, and close the door to the darkness, but he didn't. Slowly, he took another step down, pulling the door shut behind him. With a slight tug and a snap, he was plunged into complete darkness.

Fear lurched up into his throat like bile, but he fought it down. This was stupid. He was almost eighteen. It was just darkness. He took the steps slowly, often stepping down onto each sometimes with both feet. It didn't help that the wall on his left disappeared half way down. He pressed closer to the wall that was actually there, as though something might reach out and grab him. It didn't help that part of that something was inside his own head.

He counted the steps as he made his way down them, and even then didn't trust it. He felt out along the cement with his shoe, until he was sure there were no more steps. He stepped forward, his heart jumping in his chest, looking for the light switch.

"Two way... Romeo..." he began to sing softly, his voice raising oddly when he still couldn't find it. He drew in a shallow breath, like he was afraid to breathe in the dark.

"...Giving... fuck..."

_What are you afraid of?_

"Um... Giving-" the words wouldn't come. "Nelson's blood running through our veins..."

_Our veins?_

_He's right..._ "My veins." He leaned forward, one hand still on the railing, in case he had to turn, run away...

_Let go._

He did. There was a rushing sound in his ears, and he turned to run back up the stairs, but he tripped, crashing to the cold floor.

_No one knows you're here._

"No, shut up."

_It's still dark in the daytime. _

"Tommy. Tommy!"

_Not coming. Never coming._

"Fuck off! Fuck OFF!" Barry held his hands to his ears, as though that would help. When the voice spoke again, he just started to scream – to drown it out. It was the only thing he could think of doing. No one came. No one was coming.

Images sped through his head – what could be waiting in the dark? For one terrifying moment, he saw something – someone that could be the voice. He had never seen it before. The worst part was that it was a warped version of him... or Tommy... maybe? But it was wrong. Distorted. He jolted back, slammed the back of his head off of something. His hands flew to that spot, and he fell silent for a moment. The voice flooded back into his head. Voices? He didn't have long enough to debate.

Another image – a head – a child rising grotesquely from skin. He cried out again, clenching his eyes shut, hands in front of his face.

Hands were on his shoulders and he lashed out, violently.

With a noise of shock, Tom fell back, the wind partially knocked out of him. He didn't care. He was beside his brother again in an instant. The overhead light flickered on, faded out again, lit the room with red light. Barry didn't stop screaming.

Tom shouted his name over his brother's yells, He could vaguely hear Laura and Nick exclaiming something behind him. Everyone was here. Eddie, looking strange without his camera, Tubs, Paul, Spitz.

Barry fell silent again, listening, for a moment to Tommy's words. He calmed down enough to realize the lights were on, shaking violently. Tom's hands were on his face, stroking his hair. He'd broken into a cold sweat, and Tom pushed Barry's hair from his forehead, shaking himself – Barry was so pale. What the hell was happening?

Barry wanted, badly, to just bury himself into Tom's arms, but he didn't. He pushed Tommy away again. "Paul! Don't," he added to Tom who had reached for him again. No one moved for a moment. Laura's eyes widened. Everyone looked back at Paul who hadn't taken his eyes off of Barry.

"Paul!" Paul pushed past Nick and Laura, crouching down beside Baz, not daring to look at Tom. Barry's arms encircled his neck and he pulled him down, forcing Paul to his knees. He wrapped his arms around Barry's body, which was practically vibrating against him.

Slowly, Tom stood up, backed away until he was standing beside Laura.

"Shh," Paul whispered into Barry's ear. Barry buried his face in Paul's neck and Tom felt a wave of jealousy. "It's all right... It's okay, I'm here." He whispered these last words so quietly, he wondered if Baz even heard them.

"All right, clear off." Nick said suddenly, and Paul wondered why he'd ever hated the man. Tubs and Spitz listened. Laura and Tom hesitated. "What did I tell you?" Nick snapped at her.

Tom hadn't moved. He was watching his brother. Laura's hand on his arm brought him out of it and he started up the stairs behind her, his eyes on Barry as long as he could see him.

Nick hesitated for a moment. Paul met his eyes, _Thank you_. "We're okay."

Nick's eyes fell to Barry... he didn't look away until Barry turned is face towards him, watching him. Paul ignored the slight anger that boiled up in him – Nick looked at Baz like that a little too much. Nick quickly looked away – nodded at Paul, headed back up the stairs.

"What happened?" Paul asked softly.

Barry pressed his hand against his forehead, Paul's arms still around him. "It's like He's..."

"What?"

"Can we go upstairs?"

"Yeah," Paul stood, Barry clutching at him like a frightened kitten. They took the stairs quickly, Barry already feeling slightly stupid. Paul left the younger boy at the top, then took the steps quickly, flicked the light off and came back up. Barry's hands reached for him again, as though afraid Paul would get sucked back down into the dark. The door was closed on it all and they moved into the recording room. A familiar space. Barry's heart rate slowly returned to normal.

He was curled on the couch, legs tucked under him, his head on Paul's shoulder. After a moment, Paul rested his own on Barry's, stroking his wrist lightly, watching the skin move over the small bones when Barry moved his fingers.

"Do you want to tell me?"

Barry wanted to tell Tom... but it was an adherence of trust... maybe this would make Paul stay.

"It was like..." How could he explain this?

"He's always been there, always just been-"

"Who, Barry?" Paul asked, already fearing the answer.

"The... Him... and I saw him, like—he was there, outside my head..."

Paul inhaled, trying to push out the fear that had pooled into his chest. What could he say? This wasn't like a kid having a nightmare... was it? He had no idea. That hit him hard... the fact that, even when separated, Tom and Barry still harboured many secrets – hundreds of thousands of things that no one else would ever know.

"Do you want to tell Tommy?" Barry didn't answer. It seemed like a full minute before he felt Barry shake his head against his shoulder, bury his face in Paul's neck again. Paul reached up and ran his fingers through Barry's hair.

Paul couldn't turn Baz away now. He didn't know what had made Barry decide to go down into the basement anyway.

When Paul woke up in the morning, he had to remember, for a moment, coming up to his own room. They'd both been half asleep when they took the cold journey through the hallway and up the stairs - Barry was still pressed so hard against him it was like he was trying to meld into him. Paul didn't leave, for once. Didn't get out of bed so that he wouldn't have to face his fucked up plans in the daylight. It was one thing when Barry's face was in shadows.

Why had Barry called for him? Tom had been right there beside him, touching him... why Paul?

It had startled him when it happened, Barry calling his name, so much so that he thought, for a second, that he had heard wrong.

He didn't want to face Tom today, or Laura for that matter. He _really_ didn't want to face Laura. Tom would probably stay quiet about it. Confront Barry if he confronted anyone at all.

Paul found that he actually wanted to hear – to understand why Barry suddenly looked to him for comfort instead of his brother. To know the real reason, because he wasn't foolish enough to think that he really _knew_ Barry. Only Tom knew that.

Baz stirred in his arms, drawing Paul's gaze. Blue eyes opened, focused on him, and closed again after a brief moment. Paul thought he had gone back to sleep when Barry mumbled sleepily, "You stayed."

Paul smiled slightly and pushed Barry's curls from his forehead. "Yeah."

Tom didn't want to intrude on Barry's business. 'Treat others as you wanted to be treated,' that was what Dad had always said to them.

But then, if he was Barry, he would want his brother there at a time like this... but then... he hadn't—he'd looked for Paul instead. Tom didn't know what Barry wanted anymore.

He half wanted to go to Paul's room and find Baz, but then...

He shifted restlessly and felt Laura's familiar hand against his face. He looked over at her to find her watching him with concern. "Hey," she said quietly.

Tom half smiled at her, but it was gone as quickly as it had come.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked.

Barry's and his business was private. He hesitated, searching for something to say, but she beat him to it.

"Why was Barry asking for Paul?" Tom looked away, shrugged one shoulder, then looked back at her. He wished he knew the answer to that.

"You know Paul likes Barry don't y-"

"Yeah," Tom cut across her gently. "Yes."

"But Barry's-"

"Is not like that," Tom answered over her, mixing their words together – finishing her sentence. Barry wasn't like that, but then... he had his doubts about that now.

"I think he's looking for someone to protect him," Laura said after a moment, thinking of what she'd told Paul less than a month ago... that she was protecting him. That's what she had thought at the time... but she wasn't even entirely sure what she was supposed to be protecting him from.

"I am!" Tom said, surprising her.

"I know, Tom, but he doesn't know that," she said, her voice soothing.

"I was there! And he didn't want-"

"I think," Laura said loudly, holding Tom's distressed eyes. When she was sure he was listening, she continued softly. "I think that he feels like you've abandoned him."

Tom stared at her for a long moment, then he shook his head, exasperated and confused, looking away. After a moment he rolled away from her and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

"That's just what I think," Laura said, hurriedly.

"He should..." _He should know, _Tom thought, but Laura was right. He'd been so wrapped up in his freedom that he hadn't even really noticed.

"It's not your fault, Tom... and it only makes sense that he would look to Paul—that's who he's been spending time with. I'm just worried that he might take it too far, you know, to get Paul to like him more, or-"

It was exactly what Tom was thinking, and for some reason, for the first time, Laura thinking the same was as him annoyed him. He pulled on his jeans with his back to her. He could feel her eyes on him, but he ignored it, feeling stupid for being angry at her when she hadn't even done anything. No... he was just wound up about Barry.

"I'm going to find him."

"Tom, it's early."

"I don't care," he noticed his voice raising and took a moment to calm down.

"But-" she began.

"Laura!" He twisted around to look at her, her name hanging in the air between them. She stared at him, half sitting up on her elbow. Her hair was all mussed and hanging over her shoulders in a very pretty way, and for once, Tom found he didn't give a shit. "I need to talk to him." He stood up and tugged his shirt off of the chair it was draped over, pulling it on.

"I think you should just-" she began again, but he cut her off.

"You don't know what he needs! I _need_ to find him, do you understand? I shouldn't have left him last night," this last he muttered to himself.

"You can't baby him."

"That's not—you're stopping-" he took a breath, forcing himself to calm down again as he searched for the right words, then thought it was just better to leave it alone. No sense getting into a fight over this. Getting anyone upset – that's what Baz did, not him.

"Just leave it alone, please," he said softly, turning to leave.

"Tom!" she said, but he was out the door.

He made it all the way down to Paul's room, wondering if he should check the recording room first, just in case Barry was in there, but he knew in his gut that he wasn't.

He stretched out a hand for the door handle, but never touched it. Perhaps he was afraid to confirm his suspicions.

He would go for a walk, he thought, and when he came back Barry would be awake – probably in the kitchen or something. Then he could talk to him... and he couldn't face Laura right now.

Perhaps it was luck that Paul and Barry got up when they did – or unlucky that they hadn't sooner. Barry was sitting on the bed, still unmade, one leg curled under him, the other hanging down to the floor watching Paul do up his shirt when the door was pushed open. They both jumped, and Paul swore softly.

Laura shut it behind her and took in the scene before her. Thank God they hadn't still been in bed, Paul thought.

"You could have knocked, then," he said, glancing at her as he reached for his tie, acting unfazed, looping his tie around his neck and beginning to do it up.

"I don't see why, considering I wouldn't be walking in on anything, would I, Paul?" she snapped.

"She's mad, Paul," Barry pointed out, unnecessarily.

"Well... considering it's _my_ room, and it _is_ polite to-"

"Don't! Just—don't,"

Paul's fingers slipped from his still undone tie and fell to his sides as he watched her carefully. "What's this all about?"

"You don't think you're being discreet, with what you're doing, do you?"

"With what I'm-"

"You can't do this to Barry, he's seventeen, he doesn't know-" Barry had stood up, said something Paul didn't hear because his annoyance had flared into anger.

"And what, exactly, would I be doing to him, Laura?"

"Just because he's reaching out to someone-"

"I haven't been _doing_ anything! And I really don't see how this is any of your-"

But Laura needed to get her point across. Laura couldn't have Paul taking Barry away from Tom.

"He's just a kid!"

"I'm not-" Barry exclaimed.

"And what you're doing it any better?" Paul exploded suddenly, startling all three of them. "You're the one who's fucking—_caused_ all this in the first place!" There, he'd said it...

Laura laughed and half turned away, like she couldn't believe what he was saying, but she was unnerved. She had known Paul for a very long time, and she knew that he never wrongly accused anyone of anything.

"You are the fucking reason they got separated in the first place!" He was speaking quietly, but the intensity in his tone seemed to take up the space around him. She held her ground and watched him defiantly.

"Oh, am I now? I wasn't aware-"

"Don't give me that,"

"Tom's old enough to think for himself-"

"So Tom's old enough, but Barry's not?" Paul asked at the same time Barry snapped that he could think for himself too, thank you, Laura.

"Oh, so they're old enough when it suits you, Laura? No, listen-" he said when she opened her mouth to cut him off. "_You_ wanted Tom all to yourself so you got him – didn't even think about what that might do to Barry. You took Tom away and didn't even think about that fact that it was someone he'd been with for fucking _ever_, Laura, just like you took Chris away from me – so I don't care what—what you've imagined is going on here, but I will _not_ let you set down... tell me _or_ him what we can and can't do, and I will _not_ let you take Barry away from me!" In the ringing silence that followed, Barry and Laura could do nothing but just look at him.

Sweet-tempered, quiet Paul... this hadn't been what Laura expected. Paul finally stopped glaring at her and caught Barry's eyes, but he had to look away. The intensity there was too much, twisted his stomach.

He went back to doing up his tie, trying to keep his breath from shaking. No one spoke until he looked up at Laura again.

"You can go now," and after a minute, to his surprise, she did.

The silence seemed to press in on the two of them after that, until Paul apologized quietly.

Barry hadn't taken his eyes off the bassist. His heart was beating hard in his chest.

"I don't _own_ you, I shouldn't have said that." Paul opened his mouth to continue his explanation, but Barry had crossed the room to him and pulled him forward by the lapels of his shirt and kissed him before the thoughts even took solid form in his head.

It was almost cautious, Paul thought, his own hands flitting over Barry's chest and shoulders before resting on his wrists.

"She's wrong," Barry said, pulling back a little bit. Paul kept his eyes shut, and his hands fell to Baz's hips briefly before he let them fall to his sides.

"I know that," when he opened his eyes, he didn't look up.

"I know what I'm doing."

_Do you?_ "I know, Baz." _That's what scares me... why will you give up so much for me?_

Barry was inconsistent. This could all change in a heartbeat. Paul had to remember that. "We should go downstairs before she makes a scene.

"I hate her," Barry said suddenly. Paul finally raised his eyes to Barry's face, regarding him seriously.

"It's just how she it."

"You're too nice, Paul."

_No, I'm not. _Because Laura was partially right.

They arrived at the stairs in time to see Laura breeze straight past Tom who had just entered the front door. He watched her go, confused, then looked at the two of them. "Laura?" he called after her, but she didn't answer. Her hair rippled behind her as she stormed across the garden.

"What happened?" he asked, and Paul looked at Barry for help, but he was watching his brother with an oddly intense but closed off expression. Impassable.

It was strange to see them lock eyes – be so far apart from each other – across a room.

"I need to talk to you," Tom said.

Barry took the last few steps and walked towards him and Tom instinctively, protectively circled his arm around his brother's shoulders, but Barry didn't move. He stood completely still, refusing the touch. Tom cleared his throat, and looked down. His gaze fell on Paul who took that as his cue to leave, and passed them quietly.

When he was gone, Tom put both his arms around Barry and hugged him, but Barry just stood there. Tom didn't pull away.

"How are you?" _I'm sorry. It's my fault_.

"Fine."

"Are you sure?" _Barry...? Where are you?_

"Yes."

He didn't need Tom to protect him anymore. He had Paul. A feeling expanded inside of him – worry and near-overwhelming affection all at once. He stepped back and Tom let go.

"What happened last night?" _Please, let me in._

"Nothing, it doesn't matter anymore."

"Baz, that was really bad." _I'm so sorry._

"Paul was there. I don't need you anymore, Tommy." His voice broke a little, but it wasn't too noticeable.

Tom looked at him for a long time, trying to keep his breathing from becoming erratic.

"You should go find Laura," Barry said coldly.

Tom hesitated.

"She all fucked off, Tommy, you'd better go comfort her."

"Come here, Barry." Tom tried to embrace him again, but Barry pulled back.

"Go away now, Tommy."

Feeling slightly sick, Tom pulled back. He took in his brother, standing with his arms at his sides, looking at him but completely closed off. It was like this with Him too, but the worst part was that this _was_ just Barry... His brother didn't need him anymore.

When Tom didn't make a move to leave, Barry pushed past him almost gently, familiar hands on his arm, and then he disappeared after Paul.

Tom stood, alone for the first time ever and for an instant he caught a glimpse of how Barry must feel – have felt... the only emotion he couldn't say he shared with his twin. He inhaled sharply through his nose, swallowing tears back. What he didn't know was that Barry had left because he was seconds away from forgiving Tom everything.

"Everything okay?" Paul asked when Barry entered the kitchen. Barry didn't answer, and Paul didn't press the subject.


	6. Part Six

**Oh SEPARATION ANXIETY**

Part Six

Barry usually hung around in their room before going to Paul's. He would leave before Tom and Laura went to sleep, because apparently it was Tom and Laura's room now, and just pass time in the kitchen – sometimes he would talk to Spitz or, once, Nick, who had shared his cigarettes out on the front step with him.

Tonight both Tom and Laura were missing. He wasn't used to not knowing where Tom was, and it always unnerved him, but tonight he could almost ignore it. At random points throughout the day, where his thoughts should have been on something completely different (getting the band back together for instance, considering nothing had really been done since the operation), but Paul's words would suddenly float back into his head in that defiant tone he had never heard Paul use, _I will _not_ let you take Barry away from me! _Every time it happened, his stomach would jump – Robbie called it butterflies, and he was never sure why. Frankly, the thought of having butterflies inside of you was more than a little unnerving, he thought.

He rubbed his neck where it was sore from being tilted, scribbling in his book. He only had a few pages left and the front cover was getting loose. He half considered throwing the page out, but then he didn't. It occurred to him, as he stood and pushed the notebook into its hiding place in a cobwebby corner of the strange ceiling, that he hadn't written to Robbie in ages.

"—just don't think that Barry understands what he's doing."

Barry froze, staring at the door.

"He does, though, that's why he's doing it."

"You think he's going to stay with Paul?"

"He's not with Paul, Laura."

Barry could hardly hear what his brother was saying through the door. He was always so quiet, and he seemed to get quieter when he was angry.

"Well he's pretty damn close, and I don't think that Paul's going to be able to- what?"

Barry's body jolted when he heard one of them grasp the doorknob. He had nowhere to go. He shouldn't have stayed here so late. Usually he was in Paul's room three hours ago but Laura and Tom hadn't been here... usually it was them that made him need to leave. He'd lost track of time... and he didn't want them to know he had heard them. In fact he didn't want to be near either of them at all... and he was rapidly beginning to really dislike Laura because she couldn't keep her nose in her own fucking business. What did she know about him anyway?

"I know that, Tom, but I'm just concerned..."

"I don't think it's our business." There was a long pause. Barry could see Laura's expression as though she was standing in front of him. Wide eyed, intense. He used to think she was beautiful.

Tom pushed a hand through his hair, watching Laura, frustrated. He'd been trying to keep things okay between them all day but she wasn't helping. She kept bringing up Barry and Paul and he didn't even want to think about it. It was just one more thing to worry about on top of everything else. Laura was angry, Barry wasn't... even... Tom felt like his brother was on the edge of something he couldn't see, and he wasn't sure if he was going to fly or fall. He wanted everything to be like before, but then he didn't... it was all so fucking confusing.

He just wanted Barry to tell him what was going on. He wanted to understand Barry, not just the distorted bits and pieces of what Laura was telling him or what he had seen.

"I'm just concerned that one of them will be hurt."

_You don't care about Paul. _Barry thought. _I know you now; I know what you've done._

The door swung open. Both pairs of eyes fell on him at the same time. He watched them, defiantly raising his chin a little. Tom opened his mouth to say something but Barry spoke first. "Don't want to interrupt. I'll be going now."

He heard Laura try to get something out as he pushed in between the two of them and walked out. She had no idea... and neither did Tommy. Tommy didn't know him anymore. He couldn't shrug off the tight feeling of... guilt... loss? What?

He forgot it all as Paul's hands slid into his hair, Paul's mouth found his in the dark only briefly, barely a kiss, and then without any words, they both fell asleep.

Paul never mentioned that had been worried that Barry wasn't coming.

Laura hadn't told Tom what Paul had said to her that morning. She hadn't mentioned the conversation at all, only that she knew now, for a fact, that there was something going on between them. That Barry did go to Paul's room every night.

Tom had his back to her. Not touching her.

Tom felt her move away from him, but he didn't acknowledge it. His mind was racing. What if Laura was right... and one of them got hurt? What if Paul couldn't handle Barry like he could? Paul couldn't. Only he could do that. He was Barry's brother...What if something... happened... and Baz couldn't handle it?

Paul's eyes flickered to the glowing green digits of his clock the minute he entered his room. 1:15. Barry usually showed up before 2:30... He pulled off his shirt, carelessly dropping it to the floor. But then last night he had been late... He ran his hands through his hair, remembering the tension that had built up while he had waited for him last night... He got into bed, not even remotely tired... he wondered if he would even be able to sleep unless Baz was with him...

That had happened with Chris too. He remembered waking up to find Chris's side of the bed empty, feeling the panic that would rise up... he hated finding him passed out with a needle hanging from the crook of his arm when he was supposed to be stopping that shit for good... it was even worse to find that he had left the house, in search of more.

Paul had spent many nights out, haunting the places he know Chris would go to find a hit.

His eyes slid to the clock again. 1:19...

He caught himself then, realized blowing out a breath, annoyed with himself. He pushed the covers down, intending to find some cigarettes, pass the time better... not be so fucking stupid... when his door was pushed open. The lights had been extinguished in the hall. Usually at least one or two were left on, but before Paul could register that as strange, the mattress dipped slightly as Barry climbed onto it.

"Hey," he said quietly, as he sat up, happiness and relief spreading through him. He brushed Baz's jaw, fingers sliding up behind his ear.

"If you hurt him," Paul's hand flew away and he pulled back quickly. His heart felt like it had stopped.

"If you do anything at all to him that could..." he struggled for a word for a minute. "Break-... I'm just saying that Baz had better mean _everything_ to you, otherwise stop this now."

With that, Tom got off the bed and walked out of the room, leaving Paul with his heart pounding in his throat.

The bassist only remained where he was for several more seconds before he shoved the covers off and got up quickly. His movements were almost frenzied as he searched for his jacket and his fags in the dark. When he found them, he shoved them into his jacket pockets. He grabbed his matches on the way out the door of his room and hurried quietly down the stairs and out the front door.

It was raining and he swore, ducking back under the shelter of the roof as the door fell shut behind him, seeming to suck the light from indoors off of the gravel drive and the front lawn. He lit his cigarette, shoulders hunched against the wind and took several hard drags in a row before flicking the cherry off and setting out into the rain, dropping the fag into his pocket.

The encounter with Tom had rattled him – confused him. He couldn't handle seeing Barry right now. He was upset and it wouldn't do to upset Baz.

The heavy rain had only become heavier by the time Barry pushed the door open to Paul's room. He knew immediately that something wasn't right. Even though it was darker than usual because the clouds were obscuring the moon, he could tell that Paul wasn't there... he called to him anyway, but it was no surprise when no answer came. But Paul always waited for him. Why hadn't he now? It didn't make sense.

Slightly panicked, Barry hesitated, reluctant to go into the darkened room. After a moment he stepped out into the hall again, closing the door and made his way down the narrow, spiralling staircase in search of him.

His hand was on the handle of the front doors, not seeming to even notice the fact that he was only wearing jeans and a thin white, short sleeved shirt, and that he was barefoot. A moment before he pushed the heavy door open, something caught his attention. Guitar. Barely there, drifting from the recording room. A welcoming sound drawing him away from the storm outside.

He pushed open the door, the notes of the guitar getting only a little louder. He could see Paul sitting with his back to him in an armchair. His coat was draped across the back of the couch. He door clicked shut softly as Barry entered the room, but if Paul heard him, he didn't let on. Barry crossed the room and slipped his arms around Paul's shoulders, breathing in Paul's familiar smell of cigarettes and something Barry couldn't quite place. And now he smelt of rain and wet vegetation that reminded the singer strongly of L'estrange Head, bringing a wave of nostalgia.

He felt Paul jump, then stiffen under his touch. His clothes were damp and Barry could see drops of water clinging to the ends of his hair. There was the ringing sound of the strings before Paul stopped them and played on – a minor interruption to his music.

Barry moved a little closer, not quite understanding the lack of response he was getting. Paul pulled away, turning enough to glance at him. "Don't, Baz." He wouldn't keep eye contact. Barry straightened up, and Paul heaved a soft sigh before beginning to play another song.

Fighting down the upsurge of anger, Barry moved around the side of the armchair, perching on the armrest, one of his knees bumping against Paul's. He reached out to pull Paul's hand from the guitar. "Barry!" the sound was startling – desperate. He pulled away hard and pressed his hand against his forehead.

"What's the matter, Paul?"

"Nothing," he was speaking quietly again.

"What did I do?"

Surprise. "Oh, nothing, God." He sound upset now. More than he had before.

"What is it?" Barry pressed.

Nothing, Baz, just-" he didn't finish.

"Come upstairs with me then."

Paul met his eyes, then looked away again. _What can I tell him?_

"Something's wrong." Barry muttered, not looking at him now. He was pulling loose threads from the back of the chair.

"It's not... it's fine."

"Just tell me, Paul!" Barry said, his voice rising as his anger began to get the better of him.

"Maybe you'd better ask your brother." Paul found himself saying and wishing immediately he hadn't. Barry's cheeks seemed to suck in, his eyes narrowing, then hardening. "What's Tom got to do with anything?" it was a voice of forced calm, somehow more threatening sounding than his shout.

"Nothing, just..."

"Fucking—why's Tommy always—I don't need him anymore." Barry bit out. "He's _just _like Laura. Wants to mind his own business, doesn't he? Yeah."

This last part of the sentence seemed oddly disconnected, Paul thought. Barry continued before he could say anything. "Him and Laura are just tryin' to fuck everything up." His voice was sullen and angered.

"They're just looking out for you," Paul said softly, not quite able to meet his eyes. He didn't want a fight. He wished he was better at this – thought things out instead of running away and hiding.

"They're fucking it _all up!_"

"Barry-" Paul said, trying to keep him quiet. "It might seem like that, Baz, but Tom's-"

"I don't care what Tommy says! He's not right anymore He doesn't know. He's getting it all wrong!"

Paul sighed and fell silent. He'd turned his body away from Barry, pulling away from all touch.

"Him and Laura don't know what they're talking about," Barry said after a long time. It must have been almost five minutes. "They think I'm not gonna stay with you, Paul. Is that what Tommy said?" Paul was looking at him now, his eyes lit up, but sad. "I will..."

With these last words the bassist felt his eyes and nose sting suddenly and he quickly looked away, forcing all emotion down. God... what was wrong with him?

"I am, Paul..." why wouldn't he look at him? "Look at me..." He didn't. "I am... Not gonna be like everyone else. 'M Not like everyone thinks I am."

Paul forced a laugh, looking ahead now, but not at the singer. He didn't trust himself to do that just now.

"What?" Barry sounded defiant.

"You're not like _anyone_ else, Baz."

Suddenly the guitar was being lifted out of his hands, forcing him to turn back towards Barry, their legs brushing lightly again. Barry placed it with surprising gentleness against the chair behind him before sliding easily down onto the chair, one of his legs curled between Paul's, the other caught between the arm of the chair and Paul's right thigh. Paul's hands rose automatically to push him away, stop things before they even started, but then they started, and he found himself pulling the younger man closer.

Barry actually bit Paul's lower lip, briefly before he pulled back enough to meet his eyes. Their open mouths were almost touching, their breathing already deeper than normal, breath mingling. He could feel Paul's fingers tighten on his arms, just above his elbows, and he caught 'that look' in his eyes again. He was going to try and push him away... again.

"Just for a moment think about a moment... this moment."

Paul stared at him for a minute, then laughed in a sort of surprised breath. Barry was quoting his lyrics. Just some bits and pieces he'd written and left lying around.

"Where did you find-" he began, but Barry cut him off effectively. Paul wound his arms around his lower back, pulling him closer. He had to tilt his head back in order to reach Barry's mouth. There was a second, when Barry tried to fix the position that their hips slid together enough to make both of them gasp and catch their breath.

Suddenly Barry's warm weight had gone, and Paul's hand was grasped in a slightly sweaty one, and he was pulled to his feet. _Oh, fuck_, he thought, not quite sure what he meant by the words. They were pressed together so hard that he could feel their ribs slide together roughly. Barry's hands were on his hips, fingers catching in his belt loops, then brushing over his stomach before he began to undo Paul's shirt.

It was so fast that it was clear Barry wanted to waste no time. His tie fell to the floor like a stream of water from Barry's hand, Paul's shirt sliding off of one shoulder, completely undone.

There was a long enough pause for Barry to pull his own shirt over his head, then start on the button of his own jeans. Paul reached out, with an effort- and tried to stop him. Barry brushed him impatiently away.

"Barry," he said, softly, warningly. It was clear what would inevitably happen if he didn't stop things. He'd promised himself he wouldn't do this. Barry didn't even have to push his jeans down for them to slip dangerously low on his narrow hips as soon as he undid the zip. Paul inhaled sharply. He caught Barry's slight smile. When he met his eyes, they were impossibly intense under the knowing expression. Paul wondered how long Barry knew he liked him. How long he'd been planning this...

Suddenly he was stepping back, and back. Both of them walking together. He didn't have time to wonder if he'd first pulled Barry, or if Barry had pushed him before his calves hit the couch. He lowered himself, pulling Barry down on top of him, kissing him roughly. When Paul looked back on it later, he would be surprised at how quickly it all changed. First their movements were so frenzied, so quick, his own leather trousers were undone and he could never remember quite when it had happened. It had been Barry that did it, he knew that much. Their teeth clicked together once or twice in the kiss, but then Barry was on his back, Paul's mouth on his throat, leaving marks that he wished hadn't been there the next morning.

He pulled back to find Barry's eyes on him, all innocence, and with a need he'd only ever associated with sex. Now it meant so much more, and he understood it in Barry. How much Barry needed this... like it was a seal – the blood to sign the contract.

Paul couldn't know how much he himself had had this very same look with Chris... and now with Barry. Their expressions matched so perfectly in that moment – mingled desperation and fear. A plea for acceptance, for someone, one person to keep them, keep their promises, need them...– And that was when Paul thought, _fuck it_, and cast away his apprehensions.

He would always remember how different it was, that first time with Barry, so unlike his first time with Chris... so unlike his many times with Chris. He lost himself but didn't lose himself to Barry all at once. He knew he had to keep his head, more or less that night. This wasn't like fucking so high on cocaine he couldn't see straight.

It wasn't like Chris taking him in Chris's bedroom as a party raged downstairs. He remembered the pain, but it hadn't bothered him. He had been so numb to it all – it was only the act that meant anything.

With Barry, it was slow and cautious and – maybe for the first time, completely sober. He had vaguely thought about getting the singer a drink or four in order to relax him, but it never happened.

Barry's hands were so tight on his hips that they left bruises that stopped him from wearing those leather pants for weeks. His eyes never left Paul's, and he knew that Barry would have let him do anything to him in that moment...

Barry remembered that words that weren't really words had issued from his mouth as Paul's fingers ran over him. He knew this... this was familiar. He remembered, vaguely, walking on The Feather, a stretch of sand, at home, with Tom to a little shelter of rocks that the tide would completely cover when it was in... They had been fifteen. Tom's mouth had been hot on his own, tasting vaguely of the blackberries they'd picked that morning. It hadn't been like this. This, with Paul was completely different. And he'd expected less and more all at once.

He remembered the pain like one remembers an injection. What it _must_ have felt like, but never quite recalling it. Strangely, this pain was more prominent in his mind than the pain after the operation. The pain he had never thought would go away. This was different pain, Paul's fingers pressed against him, his voice low in his ear, whispering to him, "Shh... you can't be tense like this, it's okay."

He remembered, "Trust me..." He had. Paul had never given him a reason not to.

He remembered the way the pain shot up his back like the spattering of rain, glass shattering from a dropped bottle. Slowly, slowly, Paul's hip bones pressed against his own – "Don't, you're all right," Paul had whispered when he'd arched up sharply to alleviate the pressure.

He remembered the reality that they were in the recording room, and that anyone could walk in at any moment. He remembered having to keep quiet, his own knuckles pressed hard against his mouth. This wasn't like Tom and Laura who were in the attic room and never had to worry about the noise they made and he doubted they would even if they had to.

He remembered Paul's tongue on his stomach, tracing the outline of the scar that he didn't even like to touch, himself.

It was Paul that taught him to accept that part of himself.

He remembered the feeling of Paul's hair entwined in his fingers.

They dozed on the couch into the early hours of morning. When it stopped raining outside, they made their way back up to Paul's room, half dressed, dropping the rest of their clothes on Paul's floor.

Morning came as it always had. Only Paul and Barry seemed to notice any difference in it. Perhaps they were the only ones not taking it for granted.


	7. Part Seven

**SEPARATION ANXIETY**

PART SEVEN

Nick's raised voice streamed into the kitchen. He was speaking to Zak about restarting the band. Paul had found him that morning and spoken to him about it. It was as good a time as any, he thought, and he and Baz had talked about it several weeks ago... before everything had happened.

Barry was still asleep in his room... his bed... oh fuck – it wasn't anything new in the past few weeks, but...

Nick had taken to the idea in a far more enthusiastic way than Paul had expected, but now it looked as though, if Nick had been in a good mood, he certainly wasn't anymore. Paul caught Tubs's eyes across the table. The drummer raised his eyebrows as Nick broke into a fluent stream of curses.

Tom felt Laura get out of bed and heard her make a faint noise under her breath at the cold room. The window didn't exactly close properly and after last night's rain it had cooled off significantly. He watched her as she pulled on a sweater, her hair all bunched up against the back of her neck. She didn't look at him the entire time she was searching for socks and shoes, and finally she left the room without a single word. Tom stared at the door for a long moment and then rolled away from it, curling into himself a little and closing his eyes.

Laura made her way swiftly down the stairs, ignoring the thick feeling of guilt inside her. She was being stupid, she knew that. It wouldn't even have bothered her, what she and Tom had argued about last night, but then him completely ignoring her – being so distant. She hated that. She couldn't stand it. It was a relief to walk past the hall phone where Nick pointed his cigarette at her as she passed, as though to say _I see you, don't be causing trouble_. She flipped two fingers at him as she passed and smiled a little to hear him stutter a bit in his surprise.

She entered the kitchen to find it almost full. Paul, Tubs, Spitz, and Adele all sat around the little table. She noticed Paul's eyes flicker away from her a little too quickly to be normal. She settled herself next to him. If she could just have a word with him... keep her head and just talk to him _once more_ about Barry... then maybe all this nonsense could be cleared up.

The kitchen door was slammed open, ricocheting off the wall and making several of them jump. "You talk to him, I'm done." Nick snarled in Paul's direction.

"What?" Laura asked, looking at Paul as Nick stomped away, up the stairs.

"We're trying to get the band back together." 

"I haven't heard anything about this." Laura said.

Paul looked away. "They're still under contract, Laura."

"Yes, but Tom doesn't even know anything about it. I know you've probably talked to Barry, as-"

"I'll speak to Tom. It's not set in stone yet." Paul said quickly, cutting her off. Why did she have to talk about _that _with Barry with everyone here? That was their business. His and Baz's. Adele was watching them curiously over the top of her coffee mug.

"Zak might not even want them now..."

Laura stared at him, then pulled away and crossed her arms. Spitz took that as his cue to leave, and Tubs followed. A moment later, a distant drum beat could be heard from the recording room. Finally only Adele was left. An uncomfortable silence descended, and finally she stood, rinsed off her dishes and made her exit.

Paul shifted uncomfortably. He was so used to telling Barry _and_ Tom everything... everything that had to do with the band anyway... he was stupid to have gone ahead with everything so quickly.

"I'll talk to him," he finally said to her. "They love it, Laura, there's no reason why they should stop."

"Oh, no, except for the drugs and everything. Keep things up, Paul, and you'll have a perfect Chris replacement in Barry."

Paul's eyes fell on her and she didn't look away. She wasn't used to fighting with Paul and she didn't like it. There was a flare of anger in his eyes, and she didn't like the way his face changed – hardened. After a second, it was gone and Paul looked away again, lifting his hips to pull out his pack of fags, then settling back onto the chair, pulling one leg up. He didn't speak until he has his match lit, cigarette hanging from his lips. "You should mind your own business."

"No. I protect Barry and Tom just as much as you do-"

"I'm not trying to replace anyone," he said, exasperated. "...Especially not Chris, thanks."

"That doesn't change anything about all of the shit you're putting into them, and right after their operation."

"Laura, please." There was something in his voice that made her stop. "We'll work around it."

It just so happened that Barry turned a corner at that exact moment and walked directly into someone. Two pairs of hands flew up, stopping more of a collision and he found himself face to face with Tom. The two of them stared at each other for a moment, not saying anything, hardly daring to breathe. There was a sound like rushing waves in the back of Barry's head that he had never really heard before. At first, he was confused, and then that familiar, hated voice – faintly, like it was talking over the sound of the ocean. Speaking to him underwater...

"Morning," Tom said, and then everything went silent. Barry felt all of that get sucked out of him like the waves pulling the sand from beneath his feet. He felt vaguely that if Tom's arms hadn't been on his shoulders, he would have experienced such a strong faltering – reeling – that he would have fallen over.

"Morning," he repeated automatically, stepping away, steady as he always was. Perhaps it had all been in his head. Tom was watching him closely, but he didn't say anything. They entered the kitchen together for the first time in weeks to find Paul and Laura sitting side by side, looking away from each other.

"Well?" Laura asked suddenly, her eyes falling on the twins, then on Paul who met her eyes, then looked back at the two boys in the doorway. It struck him then, for some reason, how young they were. At least three or four years younger than himself...

"What?" they asked in unison, then sort of broke apart from each other, hesitantly – as though each was trying to follow the other – the join still there even if they couldn't see it.

"We wanted to... Nick and I wanted to know..." Paul added hurriedly at Laura's glare, "If you wanted to start the band up again."

"Yeah." Tom said, without hesitation. Paul breathed a sigh of relief. "Tom-" Laura began, her feelings directly opposite to his own. Paul watched as the boy turned his face towards her, but didn't look at her and wondered exactly what was going on there... but he wasn't about to interfere.

"...Nothing." she said after a moment.

They went over the pros and cons. Skirting the operation, mentioning it without naming it. What Zak would say – the possibility that he wouldn't say anything, that the band would just fade out. Laura left in the middle of the discussion.

It was strange – like old times sitting here talking to the two of them again. Answering questions, clearing up doubts...

Tom left as soon as the conversation ended. It was like he didn't want to be there at all. He hadn't noticed anything, really, watching Paul and Baz together. It didn't look like there was anything different. Maybe the way Barry was so focused on him, but that might have just been because he was so intent on ignoring his brother.

Paul had half a mind to tell the two of them to lay off the drugs, but in the end, he didn't. They would come to it when it came to it.

The moment the door fell closed behind Tom, Barry stood up, circled the table and sat in the chair Laura had recently occupied. He reached out to take the spoon that Paul had been turning over and over in his fingers. Paul met his eyes, as though expecting something to be different... but that wasn't... quite it. Barry couldn't put words to the expression, but he knew what it meant. Paul had braced himself against him changing his mind about what had happened. But he'd done it in that Paul-ish way – completely accepting it if Barry decided he didn't want it – this fragile thing they had anymore – at least he would accept it on the outside. Paul was hard to understand – he kept so much to himself.

"I want to go out."

"Okay," Paul stood, stabbed out his second cigarette of the morning and followed Baz out the kitchen door to the gardens.

They circled around the back of the house. Neither of them said much, but Barry was walking so close to him it was as though they were conjoined – like he was Tom. The difference was that it wasn't in an insecure way. In fact, Barry's face was intensely different now than it had been even a week ago. Almost careless – he wasn't staring ahead, face tense. Instead his eyes passed over everything almost curiously. Like when he'd first got here, without the nervousness. But still... there was something about Barry that was constantly on guard – never fully relaxed.

"Are we going to the lake, Paul?" Barry asked, and Paul didn't miss the way Barry's fingers ran over the back of his hand, sending jolts through his stomach. "You wanted to come out, wherever you want."

They fought their way through the several overhanging branches, emerging on the rocky shore. Their walk took them around the shoreline, and it was Barry that wandered out onto the little peninsula of rocks, completely hidden from the house by trees. Paul followed him, hesitantly, stopping to stand beside him. Baz automatically moved closer to him, their shoulders brushing.

"You like the water, don't you?" Paul asked after a moment. It seemed like a stupid thing to ask.

"Reminds me of... back on the Head." Barry said haltingly, as though unsure how to explain home to anyone but Tommy. He'd settled himself on the rocks, his shoes inches from the deep water that almost completely surrounded them. "We had a beach, and... there was this stretch of sand that went on and on... Robbie and us would walk on it at night after the visitors who came to see the birds went home." He was picking through the rocks at his side; fiddling.

"The birds...?" Paul began.

"Dad's – he would stuff them."

"Nelson's Blood." Paul said vaguely, now on his third fag. Barry reached up to take the proffered cigarette from his hand, catching his eyes as he did so.

"You'd have to see it."

Paul felt oddly shut out for a moment. Barry was looking out over the lake. He blew a couple of smoke rings. Just when Paul was about to say something else – change the subject, Barry continued, unexpectedly.

"And Robbie's always saying how it's not flat out there like all the visitors say it is. 'They just don't know what they're looking for,' she says... sometimes it's like... she doesn't like people coming up there, and then other times..." he never finished. His voice trailed away.

Paul rarely ever heard talk of their sister – sometimes he would hear her name in their conversation – when they were writing Doola and Dawla especially, and when they'd first arrived here. He detected a lot more affection for her than to their father.

Barry stood up again, handing the fag back to Paul who finished it and put it out under his shoe.

"Do you ever want to go back? Now, I mean..." he remembered the fights – the boys wanting to go home at least a month into their arrival at Humbleden.

Barry's eyes scanned the shore on the other side of the lake, not looking at Paul.

"Sometimes..."

Tom had cleaned the dust off of his guitar and sat with his back against the headboard of the bed, getting it back into tune. He was used to shutting himself in up here with Baz, but now Barry wasn't with him. Barry used to practically drag him off up here and then they would just sit for hours – sometimes talking, sometimes not. They would practise – Baz would continue to 'decorate' their walls with a marker – something that Robbie and Dad would never had let them do at home, but no one cared about here.

His eyes passed over the walls now. Behind him, he knew, were the words _'Bacterial Action'_ one of Paul's song lyrics – God... even back then. Had he just not noticed or...?

It was so strange not to understand Baz. It saddened him.

His gaze lingered on the drawing his brother had made – it was the two of them. One, him, smiling and the other, Barry, yelling – screaming at something... Angered and frightening looking. He'd hated that picture from the moment Barry had done it – acting as though it was funny. _"I'm the crazy one, Tommy," _he'd said. _"I hope it's not catching,"_ Tom had shot back, playing along. Barry had buried his face in his shoulder. Tom hadn't known what to say, so he just turned his face towards him, ran his hand over his brother's hair and closed his eyes. He couldn't remember now how long that moment had lasted.

Above him, on one of the rafters was _'BROTHERS RULE' _Tom felt a sudden pang and he put the guitar down, moving to get off of the bed. Standing, he felt an odd rushing, like everything was moving backwards. One hand flew out for Barry, to steady him, but of course he wasn't there. He fell back on the bed instead. _Stood up too fast._ He was used to having to accommodate Barry's limbs as well as his own – he remembered after the operation how they would both rise at the same time, and then realize that it wasn't needed and one would sit back down – that odd useless feeling – like they'd lost something and couldn't quite remember what it was.

He stood again, slower this time. It was all right now. He made his way to the top of the attic stairs and took them slowly, just in case, but nothing more happened to suggest anything unusual.

Everyone seemed to have disappeared. He wandered through the big house like a ghost. He got a glass of water in the kitchen, wondering vaguely where Laura was, and then he remembered that she wasn't really speaking to him. She'd barely even looked at him all this morning. He felt slightly ill – he was worrying too much. Placing his glass in the sink he set off in search of her. All he had to do was make up with her, and _then _he could worry about Barry. Laura could help – they just had to straighten a few things out first – that was all.

He was halfway upstairs again, when he heard the kitchen door open and close. He knew, somehow, that it was her so he turned, intending to go back down. There was a sudden twisting of his stomach, and for a moment he thought he was going to be sick. The rushing was back in his ears again, and the next thing he knew was the sensation of falling.

Barry was slightly bored, but it was too nice a day to be indoors. He caught himself singing softly, Paul stood with his head cocked towards him, listening.

"_Young girls, mothers, walking with their friends. Kicking cans, pushing prams passing the time of day..._" his eyes flickered towards Paul who was staring into space, "_someone pushed someone 'cause-_" his hand caught Paul between his shoulders, shoving him forward into the water.

Paul broke the surface a moment later, shoving his dark hair out of his eyes. "Baz!" he cried as Barry laughed at him, "I will _fucking_ kill you!" Paul grabbed at the edge of one rock, the weight of his clothes pulling him down. Barry quieted a little, but he was still grinning that shit-eating grin of his.

"Fuck," Paul swore, shaking his head, pushing his hair back again. "Help me out," Barry stepped forward, reaching out towards Paul who grasped his hand, and then pulled on it hard. He caught him by the shoulder, stopping him from falling into the water as Barry landed almost catlike on all fours in front of Paul, their faces inches apart. "I could have done it, see." Paul stated, before, pulling himself up onto the rocks. "This is disgusting." His legs still dangled into the water as he twisted himself around to face the lake again and shook the sleeves of his shirt out, sending droplets flying. Barry snorted slightly, behind him.

He stood, after a minute, his jeans heavy with water, looking much less like the clean and well-dressed Paul that Barry knew. He pushed his hair back again, where it was hanging into his eyes, and exhaled deeply.

"Where are you going?" Barry laughed, half just to annoy him now as Paul passed him. "Back." Paul called to him. "For a change of clothes, as you've ruined these ones."

"You're such a girl." Barry grinned, under his breath.

"What?"

"Paul's a girl, isn't he?" Barry said louder, slightly unsure, falling back into his odd way of speaking to It. Sometimes he did, not often, but sometimes, in order to avoid trouble.

"That's it." Paul turned fully, caught Barry by the shoulders and pushed him, just hard enough to send him backwards into the water.

For a moment, Barry didn't come up, and Paul started to panic, but then he heard laughter far to his left. Barry was standing, waves lapping about his chest. He was fast – clearly a good swimmer. He couldn't know how strange it was for Barry to swim without Tom. They always had, ever since Baz could remember. This way –alone– was surprisingly faster, but he'd never felt like he was hindered when his brother was there with him.

He waded back to shore and waited for Paul to join him. When they reached the main shore, the place where the path from Humbleden met the beach they stopped. "We're not going to tell them that you pushed me in," Paul stated, attempting to wring water from the bottom of his shirt.

"Yes we are, I'm going to tell everyone," Barry retorted. Paul shook his head, smiling.

Barry seemed completely unfazed to be standing in sopping wet clothes. Made no attempts to dry himself except for removing his shoes and leaving them on the shore. They caught each other's eyes and laughed at the ridiculousness of it.

Tom hitting the bottom of the stairs had alerted Nick, and he was down them not twenty seconds from when Laura had called for help. Clearly something more than just a loss of balance had affected Tom. In the time it took to try and wake him up, and determine that he'd sprained his wrist by the swelling he'd turned deathly pale. Upon checking his pulse, they knew that help had to be called in quickly. Nick phoned the ambulance and Zak and then hurried out of the house to find Barry and Paul. Tubs, Spitz, and Adele were with Laura, who refused to leave Tom's side, and was still trying to wake him.

Perhaps it was a matter of coincident that Nick happened to check the lake first. He emerged from the trees and hesitated – Tom's plight momentarily driven from his mind. Paul and Barry were standing together, which was nothing important, nor was the fact that they were sopping wet, however Paul's hand in Barry's hair, their foreheads touching...

The way Barry leaned in to cover Paul's mouth with his own without any hesitation at all...

That was something else, and Nick felt his stomach turn over unpleasantly. It wasn't disgust. He turned away, letting the branch he'd been holding go, and disappeared up the path. The ambulance was in the drive – the sirens hadn't been turned on so as not to attract attention. The last thing they needed was negative press coverage.

Sod the two of them, disgusting queers... if they were going to spend their time wanking off like that, then they didn't care about what happened to the Bang Bang's guitarist, as far as he was concerned.

He jumped into the back of the ambulance with Laura and Tom and a couple of medical people who set about reviving Tom.

Nick stared into Tom's face – but all he could see was Barry... Barry who had been kissing that damned Paul Day.

Paul pulled away when he heard a noise from the path. A branch was moving lightly, as though by a light breeze. A bird perhaps? Barry's tongue, his teeth, grazed Paul's throat and he emitted a soft groan, arching his neck, closing his eyes.

It occurred to Nick much later that that was the first and last time he had ever seen Laura Ashworth cry.


	8. Part Eight

**SEPARATION ANXIETY**

Part Eight

Barry peeled off his wet shirt and dropped it into the bath tub, shivering slightly now that he'd been out of the water. Paul had convinced him to shower, just in case the water infected the circular scar just below his ribcage. He really looked at it now, for the first time since he'd gotten it. On the left side it was raised and pink. The stitches marred it even more, but it seemed to be healing fine. He noticed that it dipped down, almost touching his navel before sliding much more smoothly into the rest of the scar which was also closed with stitches, although not nearly as many. This part of the wound was a lighter colour than the rest of his skin. This was what Tom's scar looked like. A white, clean circle, with slightly raised edges.

His brow was furrowed slightly, puzzling on the fact that Paul didn't seem to mind this... what? This defect? This unnaturalness. To be joined to Tom was less defective than this, Barry thought. _Had been_.

_No, that's wrong._ He thought – this was the way they were supposed to be, separated – like normal people... but then again, Barry had never had much faith in doctors. The questions and the cold metal tools. Rubber gloves and those masks. Weaker, heart defect, reason they had lost their mother... it all blended together.

His hands moved away from where they were hovering around the scar to the button of his trousers when Paul's voice, slightly strained met his ears, calling his name.

Something was wrong – Barry knew that right away. _Tom_, he thought, for no reason in particular. Still in his wet jeans, no shoes, he moved to the top of the stairs.

Paul saw him backlit by the lit doors at the end of the hall, his fingers just barely touching the railing.

"What happened to Tommy?" he asked automatically and Paul's heart twisted. "We don't know, Laura just called to tell us he's in the hospital."

"Why didn't they tell me?"

"I think they had to leave quickly, Baz."

"I want to go see him."

"We can't, there's no car." _Oh, God, I'm sorry_. "They took it to go pick up Zak, he-"

"Why didn't he take his own fucking car?" 

"Because it would attract attention. This way was quicker, and we need to keep the papers quiet-" Paul hated these stupid requirement, but he had to obey Zak's orders.

"I don't fucking care, Paul, I need to go, _now_."

"Barry, I'm sorry, we can't, Laura said Nick's coming tomor-"

"No! Go find the fucking car!"

"Baz, please-"

Barry started down the stairs, shook Paul's hand from his arm violently as he passed him and headed for the kitchen. He'd pushed open the door and stepped off the porch before Paul grabbed his arm, and this time held on. There was a slight scuffle, gravel cutting into the soles of his feet as he tried to shove Paul away, but Paul held on.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"I'll fucking walk there,"

"No you won't, it's miles away-"

"Let me fucking go, Paul!" Barry cried, his voice ripping at his throat, startling the bassist, but he still didn't let go of him. Paul had him tightly around the wrist, no doubt bruising him and on his shoulder. He moved that hand to Barry's neck, trying to pull him closer, but Barry refused. Drew a shuddering, broken breath. He was crying and shaking with fury.

"Barry, you'll get there faster if you wait till morning, please. I can call and try to find out what's wrong later—"

Barry made another attempt at shaking Paul from him, but Paul dug his fingers into Barry's skin hard, and finally Barry stopped, simply stood there, his shoulders shaking.

"I'll find out, okay? You need to calm down, and I will find out..." He caught his breath. Barry wasn't looking at him. "Okay?"

"Get off," Barry snapped as he moved back towards the house. "I fucking hate you." Paul's hands fell away. Inside, he heard him take the attic stairs two at a time and slam the door behind him. He followed. Barry shouldn't be alone now... this was his fault. Paul's. He should have known – or... noticed or something. He knew that this was an unfair accusation.

Barry's heart was racing and he walked quickly around and around his and Tommy's old room, unable to sit still, unable to think clearly. _Tom... oh fuck, oh fuck_. He'd never been apart from him before... _What if he dies? What if he's dead—no! He's not, he's not, I would know..._

_Only a matter of time,_ It whispered to him suddenly.

Paul knocked on his door and he shouted at Paul, _(or Him, he wasn't sure,)_ to go away. Paul entered anyway and half closed the door behind him, keeping his back against it, not invading Barry's space. He retreated anyway, to the corner of the room like a frightened animal.

Paul watched him for a long moment. No one said anything for a long time, then Paul sighed a little, and his eyes flickered away.

"I want to go, too, but... Barry, I'm sorry-"

"Make Nick come back and get us."

"Nick didn't take the car, Tubs did, and there's no way to contact him now-"

Barry dragged his hands through his hair roughly, clenching his jaw for a moment. "Go away, Paul." His voice was tight, about to snap, like the string of a guitar.

Paul was afraid of what Baz would do if he left him alone. He didn't want to tell him that. "Come downstairs with me, I'll call and find out what's-"

Barry reached out a grasped Laura's recorder from the top of the dresser and threw it as hard as he could at Paul, who ducked and swore. The little instrument broke and showered little pieces of plastic around him. He straightened up. Barry was breathing heavily, practically vibrating with anger.

Paul left.

Laura and Nick sat together in waiting room, a chair apart. Zak had come and was negotiating with the doctors not to let anything leak out to the press. They took in the comments about symptoms of this and that – the procedures they were going to go through – immediate family?

"Only his brother – no, his father doesn't live near here." Laura felt like screaming at them, _I am his fucking family_, because Tom was hers. More than she had ever had, anyway. She found herself wish Barry was here – worrying about him because she was too afraid to worry about Tom.

Paul listened to the phone ring, sixteen, seventeen times, when finally someone answered.

"Uh, I'm... looking for information on Tom—Thomas Howe. He was brought in early this morning. No—I'm... no, look, I'm not with the press. My name is Paul Day, I'm part of Bedderwick-... Fuck."

He put the phone down. It was almost 9 o'clock. He'd asked Barry to come down twice more – to eat something, to come sit with him and see if he could get through to the hospital.

But it didn't matter, because now that he finally had, he hadn't been able to get information. At least that meant that Zak had succeeded in keeping their mouths shut.

He caught Eddie's eyes, who was sitting on the couch across from him and shook his head. "I think no news is probably good news," he said and Paul nodded, pulling out his fags.

"I need a drink," he muttered.

The front door slammed and Paul moved quickly to the entrance hall to find Tubs and Spitz removing their jackets. Eddie followed. "Bedderwick's still there," Spitz said before Paul had a chance to open his mouth.

"And Tom-?"

"No idea," Spitz replied. "They wouldn't let us check. He's not allowed visitors. Zak's orders. And they won't let you in until Nick comes to get you tomorrow – so there's no point taking the car."

Paul let out a frustrated sigh and turned away, almost walking into Adele who had been missing in action all day – probably trying to keep out of everyone else's way, but now she was interested in knowing if Tom was all right.

After he'd found something to drink and had calmed down slightly everyone else had gone to bed early because there was nothing else to do. The tension in the room was bordering on unbearable and Paul imagined it would be even worse at the hospital. For a moment, he wanted to be there with Laura and make sure she was all right. He knew how she was when things bothered her – and without anyone but Nick there... That thought surprised him. He hadn't felt the need to up protect Laura since the days of the Noize.

Paul glanced at the clock. It was nearly midnight – early for him. He made his way quietly up to Tom and Barry's room. Hoping he wasn't about to start another fit of rage, he took a breath and opened the door. It took him a minute to find Barry was sitting on the floor under the window, wearing dry jeans and a sweater. His wet trousers were in a heap on the floor. He had his arms around his knees, and looked up quickly when Paul entered.

"Hey," Paul said quietly. Barry looked exhausted in the dim light from the desk lamp, and he didn't say anything. His blue eyes flitted away from Paul's gaze and he wiped his mouth on the inside of his arm.

"Sorry, I couldn't get through to the hospital, Baz, but Nick's coming first thing... Spitzy said 8..."

"Don't care," Barry muttered. "Leave me alone."

Paul hesitated. "Want to come down to my room?"

"No."

"I don't want to leave you... here."

"I'm fine." Barry said shortly, standing up and walking to the bed. He pulled his sweater off, a white undershirt falling from it to cover the scar, and he climbed into the bed, curling up on Tom's side.

"Fuck off, Paul," he said when Paul didn't go, his voice a warning.

"Barry," Paul said, softly. It was a plea. _Let me stay with you... I'm scared of what you'll do._ He didn't know why he felt so worried.

"Just get out!" Barry curled into his stomach, pulling the covers up high enough to cover most of his face.

He finally fell asleep, and Paul moved quietly to sit in the chair by the door. He had no more cigarettes. He knew Barry wasn't about to let him get any closer, and he wasn't about to try.

Barry's eyes flickered open and he ran his fingers over his eyes and nose, waking himself up. It took him a moment to remember why he felt so distraught. He pushed himself up quickly, feeling the pounding of a headache in his temples. His eyes fell automatically on Paul who was asleep in the hard wooden chair in the corner of the room. The bedsprings creaked as he got out of bed, quickly and Paul stirred. Their eyes met across the room, apprehensively. Paul winced, looking away. He was sore now, and tired and still worried. He stood and walked out.

Now, Barry felt bad on top of everything else. He heard the water start down the hall. He left their room a moment later – it was only 6:00 in the morning. He was exhausted, too tired almost, to think.

_I want Tom._

Paul stood under the hot water for several long minutes, not moving, his eyes closed. He wished that everything would just be all fucking right for a change. It seemed like there was always something wrong.

He heard the faint click of the shower door and opened his eyes. Before he could turn, tentative hands brushed his hips, encircled his waist from behind.

"Paul?" It was a question, but Barry didn't continue. One of his own hands slipped down over the singer's and Barry grabbed it and held it tightly. For a long time, they didn't let go. The hold was so hard that he could feel both their pulses beating where their fingers clumsily interlaced. Barry's was faster than his own.

Barry's tongue lapped the water from the top of his spine, and he turned to face him. They wouldn't meet each other's eyes even with this silent apology. Barry's mouth traced his shoulder, but then he just pressed his forehead against it and Paul ran his hands down the younger man's back, holding him there. Barry sighed shakily against him, his chest shuddering slightly against Paul's.

After several minutes, when Barry stopped gasping against him, and the water from the shower hid any evidence of tears on his face, they stepped out. Neither spoke a word to each other, even when Nick showed up to take them to the hospital.

Barry stared out the window, his arms pressed against the scar on his stomach. Paul didn't like the way Nick's eyes kept flickering between them. He thought, vaguely that it was like he knew something, but Tom's fate kept pushing that out of his mind.

He hoped to God that that kid would be all right.

To his surprise, the moment the three of them walked into the waiting room (Tubs, Spitz, and Eddie had stayed back out of courtesy and convenience) Laura was out of her seat, and had wrapped her arms around Barry who hesitated a long moment before carefully reaching up, as though it were a trick, and hugged her back. His eyes found Paul's, suddenly terrified over her shoulder. What if this meant...

"Is he okay?" Paul asked her softly.

"They think he'll pull through, but he hasn't woken up yet," Laura said as she pulled back, not quite looking at Barry. Her eyes were red and her hair was tangled. She was very pale. Nick had gone to speak to the person on duty, and after several long minutes where they all just stood around and looked at each other, traded awkward comments back and forth, a nurse came in and told them that they could go in. Everyone looked at Barry, and his eyes found the door to Tom's room where the nurse stood. He moved forward and entered the room.

Tom looked sick. There was no other way to put it. There were plastic tubes inserted into his nose, a bandage in his arm, connected to a clear bag of fluid... his hair was all mussed up and there were dark circles around his eyes. Barry suddenly wouldn't move any closer. Laura hesitated only a moment before her dark hair ghosted over Tom's arm and she leaned over him. He didn't stir. There was a rhythmic beeping that seemed to ring in Barry's head as he stared at his brother over Laura's form.

Paul and Nick sat down. Barry lingered in the corner of the room, not taking his eyes off of his brother. Not once. When Nick told him to come sit down almost ten minutes later, he appeared not to have heard.

Tubs and Spitz arrived much later that day. By this time, Paul had actually taken Barry by the arm and pulled him over to the chairs against the wall, several feel from Tom's bed. Not one movement.

They left before it got dark. Doctors and nurses came and went, checked things, talked to them – to him. He didn't take in a word, but Paul stood behind him the entire time, taking it all in. Relating it to him later.

They weren't supposed to stay in the room overnight, but Nick forced them into letting them. He disappeared for a few hours and returned and still, no sign of life from Tom.

The next morning dawned rainy and fog pressed in on them from the windows. The same blur of nurses and doctors – words that Barry didn't understand. Laura was sitting with her head in her hands, her hair hiding her face. Paul and Nick were talking quietly. Barry hadn't slept at all, Paul knew because every time he woke up during the night, Barry would be in a different position on his chair, his eyes open, darting from Tom to the window, Tom to Paul, Tom to Laura, Tom...

Suddenly Barry's chair squeaked loudly as it scraped across the floor, and Paul caught a blur of movement. He turned in time to see Barry pass the foot of the bed and climb in beside his brother, who had his eyes opened.

"Thank God," Laura said, as they all stood up at once. Tom looked confused, his arm coming up around Barry's shoulders, protectively. The IV tugged and his eyes followed the cord to the bag.

"What-?" he began.

Laura and Nick filled him in. Laura had pulled her chair over to the side of the bed, her face inches from his as he stroked his hair, talking to him softly. She didn't have the heart to make Barry move.

Barry's left hand was clenching the blanket above Tom's stomach so hard his knuckles had turned white. He'd shoved his head almost under Tom's chin, had Tom not been facing away from him to listen to Laura. His arm, however, never left Barry's shoulders. His fingers were tense where they held him tightly.

Nick and Paul hovered in the background, awkwardly. Paul caught his eyes once and laughed a little, relief flooding him. Nick looked away, and went to fetch a doctor.

By supper, Tom seemed almost back to normal. He was sitting up, had eaten, and seemed eager to get back, despite the fact that he was tired. Barry hadn't left his side. He drifted from sleep to wakefulness, the only indication being that his eyes would follow the activity or conversation in the room, or they would be closed.

"You need to eat something, Baz," Tom said, making them, for a moment, alone even with everyone else there. They were all engaged in their own conversation. Laura was watching Tom and Barry, but it was like she was on the outside. Barry shook his head. Tom's hand had relaxed on his shoulder now, but Barry still held the sheet in his fist.

"You'll make yourself sick," Tom said. He was a little worried. Barry hadn't said a word since that morning. His brother just shook his head again, and buried his face in the mattress.

Tom caught Laura's eyes and she came over. "He won't eat," he said.

"Barry, we can come right back up here..."

"No, I want to stay," he said, voice muffled and slightly hoarse. He cleared his throat.

She sighed and glanced back at Paul who was arguing quietly about something with Nick. He looked relieved when she called his name, and Nick looked murderous as Paul stood and came over.

"Come on, Baz... we'll come right back up." With a glance at Tom, he reached across his chest and touched Barry's shoulder. "Come on."

Barry looked up at him.

"Just do as he says and fucking eat something," Nick snapped at them. Laura turned to him, saying "Nick," disapprovingly.

Finally Barry pushed himself up, and followed Paul out of the room, looking over his shoulder to catch and hold Tom's gaze until the door closed behind him.

Barry still hardly spoke, Paul forced him to eat something, sat there and made sure that he did.

"He's going to be all right, you know," he said softly. Baz looked up at him, playing with a piece of bread, pushing it around his plate. "What's wrong?"

Barry swallowed, pushed his plate away and dropped the piece of bread on it. "It's just... what if the operation... got fucked up?"

"It's not that..." Paul assured him. "Don't worry, everything's all right." Barry didn't meet his eyes when he nodded.

"When the twins were conjoined, Barry was the weaker one, and so he forced Thomas's heart to work harder than normal to keep blood circulation going between both bodies," the doctor explained. Barry felt Tom's hand tighten almost painfully on his shoulder, near his neck. He was sitting against the headboard with him. It was almost noon. Tom was supposed to be able to leave today. "This is known as a parasitic twin, one who feeds off of the other one-"

"Okay, that's enough," Laura cut in, angrily. Paul unintentionally shifted closer to her. He couldn't agree more. The doctor went on to explain that as long as Tom wasn't put into any strenuous or taxing situations, he should be fine.

They removed the stitches from both boys in a matter of twenty minutes, and then they went home.

Barry stayed with Tom that night, and Laura was kind enough to sleep on the couch downstairs. Dawn was lighting the room when Tom spoke. He could tell Barry was awake without even looking at him.

"I don't think that that was right," he said.

"What?"

"What the doctor said."

Barry shifted against him.

"It's nothing wrong with my heart or yours, it's just... things have been..."

"Fucked up."

Tom laughed softly, turning to face his brother. He shifted down lower so that they were face to face. "Are you worried?"

"No."

"Don't be." Tom said into his hair, pulling him closer.

"I'm not."

"I know."

But Barry knew. Ever since Robbie had told them why they couldn't be separated – why had he wanted that? – He knew that it was something wrong with him...

"Iloveyou," Barry muttered quickly and softly into Tom's throat. He hadn't said that to his brother, or anyone for that matter since he was ten years old. He remembered the last time vividly. It was after the first time It had made Barry do something to hurt him. That time it had been a rock, smashed hard against Tom's cheek, giving him a black eye.

They never told Robbie what had happened, really – just that they fell. She knew it was a lie though. Barry could see it in her face when she checked their hands and knees for scrapes.

That was when It started to become a secret.


	9. Part Nine

**SEPARATION ANXIETY**

Part Nine

Tom shifted, somewhere between awake and asleep. He felt uncomfortable – like he'd forgotten something, but no, that wasn't quite right... what was wrong? Laura was speaking to him. Barry and him were okay – they were better than okay. In fact, the tension that had been mounting for weeks since the operation seemed to have blown over, like the clouds over the marshes as morning became day...

He turned onto his back, squinting into the darkness. What was it? It took him a moment for his eyes to take in shapes in the dark room – to become more than a little awake. There was something at the foot of the bed. He was still too disoriented to understand for a moment, and then it clicked. His stomach jolted slightly, and then he recognized the outline, the messy hair – the way they stood.

"Baz?" He called out, his voice hoarse and fuzzy from drowsiness.

He felt the bed shift under him and Barry's voice, his breath just behind Tom's ear, "What, Tom?" He sounded brassed off, half asleep.

Dread and fear flooded Tom like ice water. He saw rather than heard himself suck the air into his lungs, expanding his chest. His eyes widened in the darkness. It occurred to him, vaguely, that maybe he was still asleep – dreaming, but he was far too aware of everything around him. His body seemed alive, tingling, the sensation rushing up his arms and his neck.

"Barry-" he whispered, his eyes wide, never moving from the figure still standing at the end of the bed. He could see now, that it's hair was a little longer than Barry's. Straighter too, almost like his, Tom's, but tangled so that it seemed to be more curled. Its mouth opened and a croaking laugh filled the room, and he _knew_. That's right. It...

Barry jolted beside him, and he could see him out of his peripheral vision. "Stop it, Tom!"

He knew from the not-quite-fear in Barry's voice – the tone he had, like he was used to this – that it still bothered him... that Barry had heard it before.

"It's not-" Tom began, but Barry's hand was suddenly wrapped so tightly around his own that he thought he could hear his fingers crack.

Their breathing seemed to rush in his ears, like a two part harmony. It mixed in the air between them and the now silent thing...

Tom felt as though he was screaming – but he wasn't. He hadn't moved. It was inside him that was screaming as the thing... It... Him... hasn't got a name... Raised one leg and stepped onto the foot of the bed, one leg... the other.

Tom's arm shot out and he flicked on the lamp beside him on the table. Light flooded the room – blinding them for a moment... It was gone.

He looked over at Barry, watched as the fear slowly faded from Barry's face. His brother met his eyes, looking oddly deadpan.

"He's come before this," Barry stated.

"When?" _The basement. _Tom realized at the exact same time as Barry said it.

"Fuck..." Tom breathed.

"Yeah," said Barry, softly.

If either one of them wanted to continue the conversation, they didn't. They slept with the light on, although once they closed their eyes again, they were too afraid to open them. To see it in the light would make it far too real... More real.

Barry jumped violently when Tom's hand brushed his shoulder, "Shh," his brother whispered.

They slept as close together as they could – blocking everything and everyone else out.

A fragile protection – protecting each other from what was inside them... inside Barry... outside them now...

_Two to one and one is..._ Tom squeezed his eyes shut and let his fingers tighten on Barry's shoulder blade until the surge of fear passed.

When they woke up they were still pressed together. It was too hot. They awoke seconds after one another, possibly at the same time, pushed the covers down. Their arms crossed over each other's backs for a moment, until they pulled away, dressed and went downstairs. Just like every morning. It surprised Barry when Tom didn't linger in the recording room where Laura was still asleep on the couch, but Tom knew that she would be able to tell something was wrong. He needed to collect himself before he spoke to her... he didn't know how to explain it – and he didn't want to.

What had happened last night weighed on him heavily. One look at Barry was enough for him to know that he felt the same, if not worse. They were alone in the kitchen. For the first time, they sat across from one another at the table. Barry met his eyes once, quickly. He'd had pulled one leg up onto the chair, his arm resting across it, and his head more or less against his own shoulder. Tom could hardly see his face.

"It doesn't really mean anything, does it?" Tom asked, finally, breaking the silence. Barry exhaled through his nose.

"Dunno."

"What was it like the first time? The basement?"

"Quick." Barry said. "I didn't really see."

Tom sighed, running a hand over the side of his face into his hair. "Did he say anything?"

"I don't know. I wasn't listening." His brother's tone was getting shorter and shorter. Tom could tell he was afraid – he didn't want to talk about it anymore. Well, hell, neither did Tom, but...

"Did he say anything to you?" Barry asked.

"He never says anything to me."

Both boys stopped their whispered conversation when the kitchen door was pushed open. Laura's soft voice greeted them and they caught and held eyes for a moment before Barry's sat up straight, his foot hitting the floor and turning to face her.

Tom hastily rearranged his face into something that wasn't worry... the less people involved in this the better. He couldn't quite shake the feeling that they would be putting people in danger if they knew any more than they already did about It.

She hesitated in the doorway, as though she sensed she was walking into something, but as quickly as she noticed it, the atmosphere was gone.

Weeks passed, almost months, and no sign of anything odd. Tom was the first to grow more cheerful, but he felt that Baz still wasn't telling him something. He _looked_ fine. In fact, he seemed to be happier than he usually was, but sometimes Tom would catch a glimpse of him across the room, or when he disengaged himself from the goings on to do something – even a little thing – flip through the pages of his notebook to check lyrics or notes, the way his face would change. Like he wasn't really seeing what he was doing – like he was elsewhere, listening to something... thinking about something... else...

They were pulling the band back together. Zak had called back and told them to go through with it. "Worried about where his money's comin' from I reckon." Nick had snarled after getting off the phone. "Knows it don't get any better 'n us."

So the recording room was used again, filled with sound like it should be. Humbleden seemed far too quiet without music blaring from somewhere. It seemed to bring them all alive again. Like they had been ghosts before this, wandering and whitewashed. Like none of it had really happened. Gradually, Barry began to forget what had happened – or rather, he pushed it to the back of his mind.

Paul's fingers were on his back, his shoulder, just as often as always, but now they brought... promise. Something that shot expectation through him like nothing he'd ever known. The way he would catch Paul's eyes – how dark they could become in Paul's pale face. Barry loved to catch him staring – the thrill it gave him.

The way Paul's eyes could flash him back to the way they had looked the other night as Barry moved over him, Paul's fingers tugging at his hair, clutching at his hips.

It made him stumble over lyrics, forget he was singing all together. Made him remember the feeling of being pressed up against a wall, Paul holding him there. Tom and Nick were getting frustrated with him, he could tell, but the whole process was going smoother than expected. They didn't need as much practice as they thought they needed. A gig was set up. Expectation mounted.

He realized that this, with Paul, was entirely different than Tom with Laura... Laura wasn't rough like Paul could be. The jolts of feeling that shot through him when he thought about Laura seemed dulled, compared to what he _knew_ with Paul.

He liked the way the words, "I won't leave you, Baz—ever. Ah-_fuck_, ever..." had spilled out of Paul's mouth, against his shoulder, like he couldn't hold them back, before Nick drove them to the gig. The way the words, Paul's breath on his neck had made him shiver. It was what he had waited for... and he wanted more of it. Paul was like cocaine, only he never crashed.

He wasn't sure if he liked the way Tom and Laura looked at them after they climbed into the car, ten minutes late, and Nick sped out of the drive.

He knew he didn't like Nick's eyes on him as he got out of the car. Nick's hand, hard and possessive on his elbow as he led him into the back door of the pub. The way he didn't let go until Barry actually pulled away. The way he held the door open for everyone but Paul.

They were halfway through the gig. Alcohol thrummed through Barry's veins, and _fuck_ it felt good. All that noise in his ears, drowning everything out. It was perfect, he`d missed this. He and Tom stood as close as ever. It was the only thing they knew on stage, and besides, it kept them both upright. The crowd still seemed to be entranced by the music... it wasn't as big as it usually was, in truth, but the fact that there were still people there for the music, not for the freak show... that was _something_.

Nelson`s Blood, and the crowd was wild. A blurred mass of hair and bodies through a haze of steam and smoke and lights and sweat.

"_So how come Doola don't come out and play?_

_And how come Dawla don't talk no more?_

_Doola dropped me in it,_

_Dawla poked my eye,_

_Doola made me do it,_

_And Dawla... made me..."_

Tom's voice, Tom's guitar in his ears. He let out a scream that tore at his throat, sent his heart racing. This was like the best drug in the world. This was better than sex, and he wondered for a moment, if he should think that...

His eyes scanned the crowd. One person didn't appear to be moving with the mass of bodies. He focused on them. _What's his problem—oh— _His cry stopped abruptly. Tom's guitar didn't falter, but he vaguely heard him call him name after Barry didn't start singing. His eyes flickered to Tom to see if he had seen Him, but Tom's eyes weren't on the crowd. Barry quickly looked back. He was gone.

He didn't look back at them. He kept his eyes off of the crowd for the rest of the song. The brief hesitation that seemed so much longer than it actually was, was forgotten by them, those people down there. Nick hadn't forgotten though. He caught Paul's attention, and as soon as the song was over he took charge of the microphone, making something up about sorting through 'technical difficulties.'

Tom didn't have to ask – just caught his eyes and Barry knew that he understood. Paul's hand was on his arm a moment later. "What happened?" Barry shook his head. He hadn't told Paul. What if it...It... _No... _He made something up. Several broken sentences that didn't explain anything. Paul's brow was furrowed in concern.

"We should keep going," Tom kept saying, over and over, and Paul finally acknowledged him. "Yeah, tell Nick." In the moment where Tom turned away to do as Paul instructed, Paul brushed the side of Barry's face before his hand found Barry's shoulder. He squeezed it gently.

He wanted to know. Barry could see that. He backed away, his eyes on Paul for a long moment. He knew Paul didn't look away until Tubs started the drums up again.

They were to do an encore in a couple of minutes, and Paul stepped outside for a quick cigarette. He wouldn't have bothered, but the heat in there was starting to get to him. The fact that he felt slightly sick from the liquor, and worried about Baz wasn't helping either, and he couldn't talk to him because Nick has whisked the boys away to ask "What the fuck happened out there?".

He leaned up against the building, a light mist against his skin. He felt better in a couple of minutes. He was about to go back in when the door was pushed open. A group of four or five guys came out, each one catching his eye as they passed through the door. Paul looked away.

"Got a light, mate?" one of them asked. Paul held his fag in his mouth as he went through his pockets, holding out a book of matches. Instead of taking them, the kid, younger than him, grabbed him arm and hauled him forward, stepping aside. Paul hit the ground, realizing at that moment how drunk he was. He rolled over, attempting to get up. "What the fuck?"

"You like touching blokes, do you? You sick queer."

"Yeah, we wouldn't have come if we'd known it was going to be bloody shirtlifters playing."

_Shit._ "I don't know what you're talking about," he half smiled as he said it. He was on his feet now, but far too aware of them making a circle around them. He didn't move. He realized he'd dropped his smoke when he fell.

"Bet he's a bender."

Their laughter met his ears.

"Yeah, right, I'll be going in now," Paul said after a moment, sounding rather blasé, He had an inkling of hope that they would just let him go, but they didn't. Two rushed in on him, grabbing his arms and the third started in. Another laughed from the sidelines.

"Hey, fuck off!" he cried, managing to duck the first blow, but taking the other one directly over his temple. Little lights burst in front of his eyes, then faded, blinding him. Everything was dark for a second, and he realized the only reason he wasn't on the ground was for the two holding him up.

Where the hell was Nick when you needed him? But someone would notice he wasn't there in a second. Another blow to the face and a heavy kick straight between his thighs. All of the air whooshed out of him before he could scream, and the sound came out choked. They dropped him to the ground.

Another comment that he couldn't register, and more laughter. He thought, for a moment that he was going to die if he couldn't get his breath back. They came in on him from all sides. The pain was the last thing on his mind – just a sudden fear. Someone hauled him up, spat in his face, then hit him hard in the mouth. A heavy kick to his ribcage, and he let out a strangled cry, choking on blood that tasted of dirt and ash in his mouth. They didn't stop. How fucking long did it _take_ for them to notice he wasn't there?

"Hey! What's the fuck's this?"

One last blow to the small of his back, and they ran for it, all four of them, swearing and laughing as they went. Something metal clanged to the ground. A bar that they had last hit him with. He heard Nick curse violently as he realized who the victim was, and he crossed the gravel towards Paul...

When he came to again, all the rest of them were out there. The band and Laura and the manager of the pub. It couldn't have been that long after. Maybe a couple of minutes. Now the pain was there – and the first thing on his mind.

He could breathe again, that was good and he sucked the air into his lungs sharply. Tears stung his eyes he did, his damaged ribs seeming to crack again. Someone's hands were on him. Tom stood back with Tubs and Spitz and the manager, but Laura was on her knees in the dirt in front of him, talking to him. He spat a mixture of blood and dirt onto the ground. Where was Barry? Laura's hands on his shoulders, helping him into a sitting position. He wouldn't look her in the face.

Barry said something, close to his side, and Laura stood up, moving away. They said something about calling the police.

"Don't." Paul said from the ground.

Paul caught the manager's eyes as he rearranged himself, trying to stand up. The manager looked relieved. "Don't bother, it's fine. I'm fine." He passed his sleeve over his face. He was angry now too. At those fucking bastards, and his own stupidity.

He pushed himself to his feet, wincing, but not making a sound. He heard Barry's shoes scrape the gravel as he moved with him. His arm was crossed tentatively over his chest, as though holding himself together.

"What happened?" Laura asked, and Paul caught her eyes and shook his head discreetly. She understood at once. This had almost happened once before, back when it was him and Laura and Chris... they didn't need to let everyone know. In fact, Paul thought, it would be better for them to all just forget about it. It was humiliating enough as it was, standing out here, half hunched over and covered in blood and spit and dirt. He desperately wanted a shower.

"We're gonna cancel the rest of the gig," Nick said, stating the obvious.

"There's a hospital up the street if you turn on-" the pub manager began, but Paul cut him off, quickly. "I said I'm all right. I just..." Fuck, this was so horrible. He half wished that they hadn't found him.

"I just- can I have a cigarette?" Tom stepped forward, almost hesitantly. Paul felt Barry shift beside him, closer. Their hips brushed. He took the fag from Tom, realizing how violently his hands were shaking as he tried to light it. They were all staring at him and he fumbled with it for several very long moments, almost wanting to scream. He managed though, before he needed any more help, thank God, and handed the lighter back to Tom.

He let out a rough, shallow sigh, coughing slightly. The smoke seemed to sting as he drew on it, but it didn't matter. He wanted everyone to just look away. Except maybe Barry who was standing so close, he could feel the heat from his skin, still damp with sweat. Paul's was cold and spattered with the light rain.

Tubs, Spitzy and the manager hesitated before going back in. "We should pack up," Tom said after a moment. No one moved.

Paul still avoided Laura's eyes. He reached up, instead to wipe some blood off his face that was beginning to run down his neck and into his shirt collar. His hand came away almost covered. He made a little, half frustrated noise without even meaning too, thinking he sounded rather pathetic – God he had a headache on top of everything. And that was when one of Barry's arms slid around his waist. Carefully, Barry stepped closer. Paul didn't move. In fact, he seemed to stiffen almost without tensing, as though steeling himself.

Laura pushed her hair over one shoulder as she watched Paul swallow, attempt a breath, swallow again. He closed his eyes for a moment, and then suddenly he'd stepped forward, leaning against Barry. It was like a dance, she thought – choreographed so it was liquid. Both Barry's arms came up around Paul's back and he leaned his head against Paul's.

She saw Tom run a hand down his other arm out of the corner of her eye, watching them. A little uncertain. Barry caught their eyes rather defiantly. That defiance wasn't really necessary she thought – like they were the ones that initiated the attack, but then he'd looked away, his eyes passing over the parking lot, looking for something. Those blokes to come back, maybe.

Paul was staring past Barry without really seeing.

The door was pushed open and Baz felt Paul breathe out an exasperated breath against him. His heart was racing, Barry could feel it against his arm.

Nick stopped abruptly in the doorway. "Get in the truck, you fucking idiots! What do you think you're doing?"

Paul pulled away first, but Barry managed to entwine his fingers in the material of Paul's shirt, almost afraid to touch him and hurt him. They walked back, Barry's arm pressed lightly against his back, just above the spot where his back was throbbing with pain.

He convinced everyone, several times, that he was fine, and after pressing a cloth against the gash over his temple for the entire ride back, the bleeding seemed to have stopped, more or less. They must have been wearing a ring, or something.

By the time they were back at Humbleden, and he'd managed to walk back without aid from the van to the door he'd convinced everyone that he was fine. In fact, he felt like he was going to be sick from the headache that had only worsened.

He stood under the hot water for a long time. It was beginning to get cold before he stepped out.

He looked at himself in the mirror, noting the bruising that was beginning to cover the upper corner of his left eye. Various cuts and scrape, and discolouration of his lower lip. In short, he looked like shit, but probably better than he would look come morning.

He met Laura in the hallway. It was a mark of something... some sort of understanding between them... not quite a respect. Certainly not quite a friendship. _That_ had ended over five years ago as far as Paul was concerned... but _something_ because she didn't ask if he was all right, or if he needed help, and he was thankful for it.

He almost got the feeling that she was waiting for him, but then she just brushed his arm lightly and continued up the stairs to the attic where Tom was.

When he entered his room, Barry was sitting on his bed with his back to the wall. The light was still on, and he looked up as soon as Paul entered. Paul knew immediately upon meeting his eyes that he understood why he'd been beaten up. Just... he knew.

Paul sat down on the edge of the bed, facing him, and breathed out a soft laugh, shrugging slightly, as though to say, _oh well. It's over now_,

Or, _I don't know what to tell you._

Paul finally broke eye contact and leaned over to get the light.

"Don't turn the light off, Paul." Barry's voice was suddenly tense. Paul looked back at him in time to see his eyes flicker over the room, then catch his gaze.

His face must have showed the question he was about to ask, because Barry looked away for a moment, long enough to lay down, stretching out on his side. His fingers ran over Paul's wrist and after a moment Paul laid down beside him.

"Fuck!" he exclaimed softly, jolting slightly as another sharp pain shot through his ribs. Barry was studying him. He caught his eyes and laughed again, but the younger man didn't really look convinced.

When Barry heard the floorboards creak, he didn't have to look to know what it was. He just moved closer to Paul, looping his arm over the bassists back, protecting him from what he didn't know about, clinging to him because Paul would keep him safe.

When Paul woke up, the electric light had blended into the morning until you could hardly tell it was on at all.

He looked down into Barry's face and thought: _I can't let this happen to him._


	10. Part Ten

**SEPARATION ANXIETY**

Part 10

Something was wrong. Paul could tell that much. This was the third night that Barry didn't seem to sleep at all. Paul would drift in and out of wakefulness - Barry twisting around under the blankets, seemingly unable to get comfortable; always touching Paul though, fingers laying over Paul's wrist, or his arm wrapped tightly around Paul's back.

Barry shifted now, and Paul just found himself awake and alert like he had never been sleeping at all. Barry's back had been pressed up against his, he could feel his spine, but now Barry turned over, facing Paul's and moving closer so that he was completely pressed against the bassist. One of his legs slid in between Paul's and his arm looped gently over Paul's side, fingers gliding feather-light over his stomach. Even though it was a brief touch, Paul still felt a jitter and he turned very slightly towards Barry.

He'd questioned Baz about it, this restlessness, the first time it had happened but Barry just stood up abruptly from the breakfast table and left the room, leaving Paul feeling confused and slightly hurt. He hadn't spoken about it since – but now he knew that he had to do something.

"Barry-" he began, but the singer had already figured out that Paul was awake because his hand applied more pressure to Paul's stomach, sliding down over the waistband of his trousers and unbuttoning them, the only item of clothing he was wearing. He undid the fly easily and Paul found himself temporarily speechless.

Paul he turned onto his back - as Barry half sat up, leaning over him - and lifted his hips so that Baz could drag the cloth down his legs, and shove them away, onto the floor. He watched the way Barry pulled away to push his own jeans off, and the way his eyes raked the room as though expecting to see someone.

"What are-?" Paul began, but Barry had pushed the fabric of his own jeans down, losing them somewhere under the covers and covered Paul's mouth with his own, almost violently. Paul hissed softly as Barry's mouth moved roughly over his bruised lip, but he didn't complain.

Barry made a sharp noise as Paul pressed his hand up against him and Paul half laughed, saying, "Shh!" He rolled them over, but Barry refused to be submissive. He pushed himself up, off of his back until they were sitting up, hands shoved in each other's hair. Barry pulled his short nails down Paul's back hard enough to leave marks.

Paul knew that Nick had seen the bite marks on Barry's neck after the first time – he saw the way Nick had put two and two together before the gig and he hadn't spoken directly to Paul since. _"Too bad, Sidney,"_ Paul thought.

And Barry knew that Tom had seen them. He pretended that he hadn't. When he saw Baz watching him, he looked away quickly.

Paul arched a little against him, his hand between the younger man's legs, Barry's hips rocking against it. Barry's forehead was pressed against his shoulder, choking back all the little noises, but Paul got the feeling that he wasn't all there. He pulled back slightly trying to look at him, trying to force himself to think beyond Barry's fingers sporadically grazing over him every few seconds. "Hey," he whispered, and Barry pulled back a little – they looked at each other. Paul didn't stop his movements. His voice broke a little as he said "What's wrong?" Barry just closed his eyes. Paul reached up with his free hand, pushing his fingers into Baz's unruly hair and pulling him close, bumping Baz's forehead softly against his own. "Tell me," but Barry wouldn't. His entire body tensed after several moments of just their breathing in the room, and his hand clenched on the inside of Paul's thigh. Everything seemed to freeze for a moment, and then Barry jolted several times against him, shuddered and relaxed, his breath harsh – coming in bursts. Paul ran his hand over Barry's hair until his breathing returned to normal.

"Nothing's wrong, Paul." Barry whispered soon after, beginning to pull slowly away. He froze and watched curiously as Paul caught up his hand, not saying anything, but his eyes telling him that he didn't believe what Barry was telling him. Paul's tongue and teeth grazed over his fingertips, and then Paul closed his eyes, shutting him out. Barry's fingers slid from Paul's mouth and slid over his face and Paul drew closer, mouth on his ear, his neck. Barry felt guilty – but it was for Paul's protection...

He was afraid that if he mentioned It, It would come out and... It would be there – and Paul would see... how fucked Barry was.

Down the hall, Nick stared at his ceiling, his hand clutching at the covers of his own bed. _That bastard. That bloody bastard. _He wondered how it would feel to have Barry's mouth on his – rather than picturing him kissing Paul.

They fell asleep with Barry's front against his back, his arm draped over him, and his hand against Paul far too far down to be decent, but it was warm and comfortable and Barry wasn't tossing and turning anymore.

It was a false safety.

Paul pulled his trousers up over his hips, fastened them and bent down to pick up his shirt. He caught a glimpse of Barry behind him in the mirror. "I thought you went outside with Tom." He said, looking away and pulling his shirt on over his head. When his eyes fell on the mirror again, Barry was gone. Paul's brow furrowed and he turned around, but the singer was nowhere in the room. Unnerved, he looked in the mirror again, but nothing was amiss. Running his fingers through his hair he moved to the doorway and took in the empty hallway. Laughter met his ears from the open window – Barry's without a doubt. His heart skipped sickeningly in his chest and he moved quickly across the room to look out. Tom, Barry and Laura were all outside in the garden. The boys were standing up, facing Laura – standing closer than they had to, but not close enough to be touching. Laura was sitting in the shade of the tree. She laughed at something Barry said.

Paul's heart was thudding in his chest as he turned around to face the door again. He knew he had seen Barry in the mirror for at least a full two seconds... too long for it to be a trick of the light... but that didn't explain how he had made it down a full flight of stairs and across the entrance hall to the garden in the time it took for Paul to say that single sentence.

He meant to bring it up, but by the time he reached the sunlit outdoors, the moment sounded stupid. He didn't bother.

Tom laughed as Barry pushed him playfully, just hard enough to step back a step. "That's what I told you!" Paul heard Barry shout, and Tom shook his head, still smiling.

Tom watched as Barry rolled his eyes, feigning annoyance for once, and looked back at him. It was unnerving how quickly his brother's face changed, the laugher sliding away as quickly as a cloud covered the sun. His blue eyes, light in the bright morning, were fixed just over Tom's right shoulder. Tom looked around, but there was nothing there. When he looked back at Barry his brother was looking away, the laughter gone and his cheeks seeming more hollowed as he bit the insides of them. Tom met Laura's eyes as a shadow passed over the yard. She looked a little frightened. Paul joined their little group a moment later, but try as they might, they couldn't get the mood to lift – everything suddenly seemed forced. Strained.

In a moment of daring, alone in his and Tom's old room, Barry tried to listen to what the voice said to him – usually if he just listened, it would speak to him – like calling on it – it would come. Only it didn't, even when he cleared his mind, nothing... blank. He kept his eyes on the floor, his brows knitted.

The floorboards creaked just the tiniest bit and he jumped violently, moving back, his legs hitting the chair in the corner. It scraped across the wooden floor as his eyes caught a flitting shape.

The floor creaked again as It vanished – or seemed to vanish. But the sound had made Barry positive that He had been there. He looked behind him in one rapid movement, his heart racing in his throat, but nothing was there.

Paul was making his way towards his room when he heard quick footsteps on the stairs behind him. For some reason, it frightened him and he turned quickly – even though there was any number of people it could be – Laura, Barry, Nick... Nick's room was just down the hall after all. "Fuck, what the hell?" he whispered because no one was there. He found himself with his back against the wall of the landing, instinctively having moved there. He flicked the light on in his room before he entered it.

When Barry did come, it was surprisingly quietly. Paul didn't even hear him, but looked up quickly at movement in his door, jumping despite himself. "Baz."

Barry shut the door, and crossed the room quickly, tensed up, like he expected something to grab him. He didn't relax or look around until he was sitting with Paul, his back against the wall.

Neither of them spoke for several moments.

"Barry, what's happening?" Paul finally asked. Barry wouldn't look at him.

"I want to go home."

"I know something's going on... Barry please tell me," Paul said, surprised at how urgent his voice became.

Barry took a deep agonized breath.

"Barry-"

"Please, I want to go back home."

"What's happening?" he repeated

No answer.

"Does Tom know?"

"I fucking just want to go home!" his voice wasn't loud, but it was desperate. Paul's next words died before they even reached his lips. He waited a moment, then began again, on a new sentence.

"I thought I saw you today. Just... a reflection..." Paul said softly, like he was afraid someone... something would overhear. Barry shivered, drawing into himself.

"You were outside when that happened. With Tom."

"Paul-"

"And then I heard someone behind me when -"

"Paul! Fuck!" Barry's hands actually came up and covered his ears. "Fuck!" he cried again, his voice unnaturally high. Paul suddenly realized he was about to cry. He ran his hands over his own face, then reached out to touch Barry's shoulder. Barry flinched away, but collected himself after a moment.

"Can I please go back?" he whispered.

Nick didn't take Barry's news lightly. Tom confronted Barry in the hallway when he left to escape Nick's yelling and Paul's soft replies. They heard Nick pick up the phone, the base of it crashing to the ground – Nick's infuriated cursing.

"What's wrong?" Tom asked.

Barry met his eyes, thought about not telling him for a fraction of a second before it all spilled out of him. "It's worse, Tommy. I don't know what to do about it – and Paul saw something – we're not supposed to see It, Tommy, and now Paul did and what if It... fucking... and It's... _here_... walking around and that. It followed Paul last night, and I can't—what if—I'm-"

Tom's hands clenched on the front of Barry's sweater and for a moment he thought that Tom was going to hit him, but all he did was pull him close and clutch him to his chest so hard it was painful. Tom's heart raced against him – in time, exactly, with his own.

"It's real like—It's walking around and It's..." Barry choked against him, and suddenly pulled away so roughly that Tom was forced to release his hold. He watched his brother stagger back and then be sick on the carpet between them. Tom sucked in a breath, glancing away for a moment, feeling sick himself.

Barry's raw breathing met his ears after a moment, and he looked back to see that his brother was pressing his wrist against his mouth, pale and sweating slightly.

Tom stepped around the mess and ran his hands over Barry's face, and his shoulders, pulling Barry against him again, gently and suddenly Barry was crying. Tom buried his face in Barry's hair, biting his lip hard so that he didn't start himself.

He had never seen his brother this terrified. Not even in the basement. This fear was different.

Nick shoved the door aside and stopped, staring at them. "Oi, what's this? Paul!" Paul appeared at his shoulder a moment later, taking in the scene. "God," he said.

Tom collected himself, looking over at them. He felt Barry turn his head against his neck. Both boys looked at Paul and Nick.

"We're going back home."

_It's trying to keep me from them._ Barry thought, his hands clenching hard at Tom's back at every little noise. _Tom can't come back with me... it's only been Paul and Tom... because they're the ones that save me. That I _chose _to... Save me. Help me._

The last part of his thoughts turned into a prayer – he didn't know to who. Someone who was going to be stronger than this thing...

Tom didn't take the news that Barry didn't want him to come lightly.

The disagreement eventually erupted into a real fight, Barry's clutching at him at the same time as he tried to push him away because he was terrified of both, and Tom's hands trying to prise Barry's from the front of his sweater as they staggered about the room – unbalanced and frenzied, so that he could grab his shoulders, calm him. They screamed at each other. He didn't even remember what was said – only that the conversation seemed to be going in circles – no escape.

In the end, he convinced Baz that he was coming too. No matter what. And in the calm that followed, he promised his brother that they would fix everything – that they would work through it, together, and then come back to Humbleden and really get The Bang Bang moving. Be more famous.

"_I'm going to be the best guitarist in the world. And you'll be the best singer."_ It was what he'd told Barry when they first came here. Barry had written it down in his book and the words came back to him now and comforted him slightly – reminded him of a time that had seemed so complicated at the time, but now one that he ached for. Anything... anything would be better than this.

What if It took over? What if it was just Tom and... and It? And he would never see Paul again, or Robbie, or the Head because he wouldn't _be_ there... and that Thing would have what it had always wanted – what Barry had fought against for over ten years...

Barry exhaled in an anguished sort of way, closed his eyes and buried his face in his brother's shoulder.

He couldn't be with these people – not with Paul who he had come to depend on, who he now thought about almost constantly – his hands and his voice and his _presence_ and certainly not with Tom who It had been fighting against from the beginning.

It had always tried to keep people away from Barry – and now that it was failing – now that Barry had gained some sense of independence from Tom – whether than independence lay in Paul or not – It was angry... The separation had ruined It's plans to eventually take over both boys. It was determined not to let Barry gain full control of himself now – because then it would have no chance.

And it had always been angry at Barry for stealing It's life away. For holding Him back. It was so tired of living through him.

It had come this far now, and if It had It's way, He wasn't going to let Barry live at all.


	11. Part Eleven

**SEPARATION ANXIETY**

Part 11

It was almost unreal, Tom thought. Standing here in the entrance of Humbleden with their bags on the floor around their feet. They had left quite a few things here at the house – because that meant there would be a reason to come back. Nick had made damn sure that they were aware that their contract of one year ran out in just a couple months... once that happened – if Zak didn't take them back on again – if they didn't fix whatever the problem was, (no one had told Nick but he had probably guessed)... then no band. No Humbleden...

Barry had almost been convinced to stay for those two months... he wanted to. Desperately. He knew that one he was back home, no matter what Tom said, he was going to have to fight this thing alone.

Tom had his arm around Barry's shoulders as usual. Both boys had hardly spoken at all. It hadn't taken long to pack. In fact everything was collected surprisingly fast. Tom almost wished it had taken longer.

Nothing unusual had happened the previous night. Tom had half expected something... Him to come flying out at them from some shadowed corner – ensuring they didn't leave, but it didn't happen. He didn't even dream.

The boys had separated some time past midnight. It had been their last night here. They wanted to spend it with the people they might not see again. Paul hadn't spoken a word to him, but Barry knew he wasn't mad. Paul's hands on him had proven that much. The way everything, in the middle of everything, had stilled and Paul had just held him there... they listened to their breathing. Barry's heart was always faster than Paul's.

Laura's fingers were curled around Tom's hand all night. He wasn't sure when she'd fallen asleep... long after him, he was sure.

Now Laura appeared in the hallway, crossing the room to stand in front of them. The boys were waiting for Nick to come and drive them to the train station. There, Albert Iggles, the same man who had come to take them to Zak Bedderwick's house when they first arrived would take them all the way back to the Head. Tom wanted to laugh at the memory of Barry's comments on _"his stupid name," _buteverything seemed too serious. He hardly smiled.

Laura made her best attempt at a smile, and Tom's heart skipped a little as he released Barry to step over one of their bags and wrap his arms around her. They stood that way for a long time. He didn't want to let go. Her arms around his neck, and his face in her long, dark hair. Barry simply stood there until she reached out with one arm and said his name. He only hesitated a moment before stepping forward. She pulled him against her and he closed his eyes tightly. Tom's arm slid from Laura's back to his brother's waist, making sure he knew that he was wanted.

Nick came stomping into the hall, followed by Tubs and Spitz and the little group broke apart a little awkwardly. Barry's eyes searched the landing behind Nick and them for Paul but the bassist never came. Tubs and Spitz shook hands with each of them, wishing them well. Barry hardly paid any attention. He kept looking over Tubs's shoulder – wondering why Paul hadn't come to say goodbye to him. His heart clenched slightly.

"Right, let's get a move on," Nick said, pulling the keys to the truck out of his jeans pocket. He pulled the door open and held it for Barry and Tom. Barry's heart skipped a beat, suddenly, when he heard someone say, "Wait!"

Paul slipped past Nick to stand with them on the sunlight steps just outside the door, ignoring the way Nick rolled his eyes in frustration. Paul placed one of his guitars, in its hard case on the cement step in front of Tom. "You can take that. I know you don't have one at, you know, your house, and you like this one, so-"

Barry stared at Paul, but Paul wasn't looking at him. Tom stuttered slightly through a denial – he couldn't take one of Paul's best instruments, but Paul insisted and finally Tom agreed, thanking him several times. _Why won't he look at me?_ Barry wondered. Then: _I wish Tommy would shut up._

Finally, Nick brushed a little roughly past Paul and started for the truck. "I'm leavin' now. You better hurry up."

There was a sudden uprise of voices – saying goodbye and Laura's soft, "I love you," in Tom's ear that Barry heard even if he wasn't supposed to. He picked out Paul's voice, telling them to take care. Just before he stepped off onto the steps to the driveway, Paul caught his eyes. "Barry, I'll-..." there was a long pause. Tom lingered on the bottom step, looking up at his brother. Paul smiled suddenly, and Barry watched some emotion wiped from his eyes. "Take care, all right?"

"Yeah." Barry answered, rather shortly. So that was all Paul could give him? He felt sick again... all of that – everything he'd given... for nothing?

Once they were in the truck though, he thought that that was probably best. Maybe then It would leave Paul alone. But Barry knew that it would follow him back home.

The boat ride back was... it was so achingly familiar, yet different all at once. It surprised Barry, almost, how it looked where the boat left off, the motor sputtering into silence. He had begun to remember if differently in his time at Humbleden.

They stepped off of the boat, pulling their bags on over their shoulder. They only had three between them. They thanked Burt, the boat man who has just finished exclaiming over their separation. Tom wished he wouldn't. The way Barry pressed harder and harder against him through the entire trip made it obvious that he wasn't pleased. Burt beamed at them, waved, and then the little boats whining set in again as it carried him away.

They had told Robbie the previous night that they were coming home. Or rather, Zak had. The boys had no idea what he'd said – only that he would have to call the mainland and Burt would have to bring the message. Tom thought that they should have asked Burt if Robbie knew yet. What she's said.

On the walk back, a light mist come down and dampening their hair, curling it more than usual, they talked haltingly of what she might think or say. What Dad would do.

They crested the hill and looked down on their little house, shielded from the sea by the stone blockade they called the Abbey. It looked much smaller than they remembered it. They stood on the hill for a long time. It was only when the rain increased and thunder rumbled, making both of them jump, that they started towards it.

Roberta's eyes kept straying to the window. They had all day as she did her chores. Now she was standing alone in the darkened kitchen, washing the dishes. There weren't many, considering it was only her and Father here... but that was going to be different. Burt had come early that morning to tell her that he brothers were coming home. At first she almost didn't believe it, but her excitement had mounted. She wasn't sure when they would get here. It depended on the tide, and the storm that had been threatening all day didn't look promising. She hoped that they wouldn't have to stay over at Burt's house that night.

She knew that they had been separated. That message had come to them a long time ago it seemed now – they had needed her father's signature, and with Zak's assurance and the promise of the best doctors Father had agreed and she'd spent the next week wringing her hands, praying that they would be all right, and they were! And now...

God she hadn't seen them in almost a year...

She was passing the door, left open to let some air into the humid house, drying her hands on a dish towel when something caught her attention. She backtracked, and her heart leapt to her mouth.

Tom and Barry looked up from the path they were picking their way through, so as not to get their shoes wet when they heard a cry. Their arms were around each other because out here, it was habit, but when Robbie emerged onto the little wooden deck and hurried down the steps a green towel clutched in her hands, they pulled apart, their hands lingering on each other's shoulders and backs before falling slowly to their sides. She slowed immediately, the towel falling to the ground and her slender, brown hands coming up to cover her mouth. Her eyes widened, they could tell even in the twilight that had settled around them.

She walked the rest of the way to them, in her bare feet and then they were all in a tangle, talking and laughing and it was all a big confused mess to Barry. When she finally pulled away, she wouldn't look at them because she'd been crying. Their father was standing in the doorway, and the sudden elation that had hit them all faded a little. They had learned to be serious around their father. He'd never tolerated "monkey business" as he called it – especially not from Robbie, who was almost twenty one.

She wiped her face quickly and laughed. The three of them trooped inside. It was almost like old times.

Father wasn't too interested in their music, but they had Robbie enraptured with their stories. Laura and Paul took up a major part in their retellings. They hardly mentioned Nick at all. It was only in passing. They skimmed over his roughness, the sex, the drugs, and the new problem

The three of them sat around the table, lit by an oil lamp long into the night. Barry was talking more than he had in days, and he seemed almost cheery again - he wanted to tell Robbie everything, but Tom could tell that he was anxious to leave too.

"And you cut all your hair off, Rob," Barry said, cocking his head at her, drawing Tom's mind away from the cigarette he was longing to have – he wondered how they would get around that without their sister noticing. She would strangle them. At least that was the least of their worries.

"Oh," she waved her hand dismissively, running the other subconsciously through her hair which was a little less than shoulder length now. When they had left it had hung longer than Laura's, all the way down her back. "I cut it off 'cause I got mad at Dad."

Tom gaped at her. Robbie wasn't really the rebellious type. "What happened?"

"I wanted to go to London after you. I tried to convince him to let me, and he said no... so I said... um... I said I would go with Burt," she was embarrassed, it was obvious, and Tom caught the grin slowly growing on Baz's face.

"Then he said I couldn't, 'cause I was a girl, and so I cut it all off... it's grown out a bit since. Stupid, really."

"Robbie likes Burt," Barry sing-songed softly. Tom bit his lip so that he didn't smile. Robbie glared at him, but there was humour in her eyes. She didn't deny it, and Tom suddenly felt guilty that he hadn't written to his sister for the past several months...

She must have been lonely.

"Did you write to her?" Tom asked quietly, looking over at Barry who was standing at their bedroom window, staring at the sea. They had all gone to bed a quarter of an hour ago.

"Yeah."

"When was the last time?"

Barry caught his eyes. "March."

That was less than a month after Tom has stopped. He made soft noise of acknowledgement.

"I feel bad," Barry said after a moment.

"It's all right. We're back now."

Barry's eyes flickered over the room, then out the window again. He turned his back on Tom.

Paul stood on the steps of Humbleden, his eyes on the stars, dragging on a cigarette. The door was pushed open and Laura joined him on the step.

"Do you mind?" she asked, reaching her hand out for the smoke.

"It's my last one," he told her, but handed it over anyway. She handed it back after a moment. They stood in silence.

Suddenly she laughed. "I don't know what to do with myself."

Paul laughed, exhaling through his nose as he smiled at her without really meeting her eyes. He knew exactly what she meant.

"I think Barry was upset that you didn't really say goodbye to him," she said bluntly. Paul was a little startled. He paused, lowering the fag slowly from his lips.

"I did," he sounded slightly defensive, his eyes on hers.

"Not in the way he expected."

Paul dropped the smoke and crushed it under his shoe. There was an awkward moment where she stared at him, willing him to answer her somehow.

He moved to the door, pushing it open slightly. "Are you coming in?"

"He's going to think you regret it," she told him. "That you don't want him after all."

_If you hurt him..._ Tom's warning came back to him, unbidden.

Paul let the door fall shut again. "Laura, Barry doesn't know what he's getting into."

"I told you that,"

"No, you told me he wasn't old enough. I'm saying that he's not... he's not like me – he doesn't deserve to get beaten for something that he isn't... just because he's with me."

"Oh, so you're an item, then?" she teased.

Paul looked away. "Not anymore."

She was suddenly serious. "Did you tell him?"

"No."

"Paul-"

"Don't be like that, Laura, when did you change your whole outlook on this?" he hesitated. She was still waiting for an explanation. "I meant to. Last night. It's the best thing for him. He'll meet someone. Someone that suits him. A girl, you know, and not just settle for me."

"Don't be so melodramatic,"

"That's not what I'm doing, I'm just trying to do what's best for him."

"Then you think none of this should have happened in the first place, do you?"

She watched Paul struggle with himself for a moment. "I couldn't... it wasn't a good idea. I thought I could handle it, but Baz is-"

"He gets what he wants." Laura finished.

"No-" Paul began.

"With you he does."

Paul sighed. "I shouldn't have let it get as far as it did."

"Did you have sex?"

"Yeah," it was barely a whisper as he ran his hand through his hair. It was none of her business, but she would probably find out anyway.

"This isn't like Chris at all," she murmured.

"I could have told you that. You're the one that thinks I'm still hung up over him."

"You are. That's why you're still so distant with me."

_Well can you blame me, Laura? Really? Can you?_ he thought. He didn't trust himself to respond. Her next question startled him.

"Do you love him?"

"Baz?"

She raised her eyebrows as though to say, _duh._

"Yes." Paul replied, without hesitation.

"Then I don't see the problem."

"He's not in love with me, Laura! He just needs someone. Anyone can see that."

She looked away over the silhouettes of the trees. "I wouldn't be so sure."

She slipped inside, leaving him staring after her.

Barry couldn't stay here like this. Despite himself he was just getting more and more tense – like he was trying hard to hold something back. When Tom's breathing evened out beside him on their old bed he got up slowly and managed to crawl over him without waking him. They used to do this together, when they were younger, he remember as he pushed the window open and swung his legs out. He ducked under the wood that was rotting slightly and, with one hand still on the frame he pushed himself off and let go.

The fall looked longer than it was, and he hit the ground wrong – not used to doing this on his own. It would have been easier to just go through the house, but the floorboard creaked and the front door was worse. He staggered to the side and straightened up, backing away from their house. No lights flicked on in their room – so Tom hadn't woken up.

Wiping his hand, covered in mud and water on his jeans he set off towards the beach. He was running before he knew it, slipping slightly down one of the dunes that dipped into to the shore. The sea brought a cold breeze in with the tide, and the moon was bright enough to illuminate everything. Several more glances back in the direction of the house which he couldn't see helped him to believe that he wasn't followed.

He made his way out onto the sand and stopped. His arms were around himself, pressing hard against the join. He closed his eyes and just felt the tremors of his muscles – listened to the rush of the waves... finally, he got enough courage to relax as he hadn't really done since they arrived here.

It started like he thought it would. The voice. He didn't open his eyes. Maybe if he just... willed It back into his head.

If anything went wrong, he was far enough away from everyone...

_Do you think you can fix things?_

The voice seemed to come from all directions, but then he heard the slight whistling sound that sand sometimes made when you walked through it. He jumped a little.

_You're so afraid... why? I've been with you all your life._

Barry didn't respond. The thing laughed in its horrible croaking way.

_You don't want me do you? _Maybe it was a trick of sound – the way the waves had been rushing in – towards him – _them_ – at the time... but the voice sounded much more solid. He could tell where it was now. In front of him, standing just a bit to his left. He wanted to move away. He was too frightened now to open his eyes.

"Go away," his voice was hoarse.

It laughed again, sounding like it was mutilating the air is it drew it in. _Pathetic._

Barry jerked back when he felt fingertips, wet, come up and touch his lips. He cried out, opening his eyes as he backed up. Nothing was there – but he could taste the salt water where It had touched him.

Tom pulled Barry outside with him after lunch the next day. He looped his arm around Barry's shoulders and they just started walking.

"What are we going to do?"

"_We're_ not doing anything," Barry answered, unable to look at him. No one had noticed he'd been missing the previous night. He felt Tom stiffen.

"That's not going to work-" Tom began, but Barry spoke over him. He could feel their voices vibrate through both of their ribcages.

"We can't fix it. I—It's not going to work."

"It won't work if you try to do it yourself," Tom answered, but Barry could hear the uncertainty. "What do you think you can do on your own, then?" Tom asked.

Barry didn't answer.

Barry sat on the front steps of the house watching Robbie hang laundry up on the line. Tom was inside talking to Dad about something.

It was the first sunny day in a week. They had been out here for longer than that. Barry's stomach tightened every time he realized how close to the end of their contract they were... three weeks. And it was done.

He pushed aside the memory of his and Tom's conversation last night.

He watched a ladybird make its way across the dark wood of the deck. A sudden prickling on his arms and back made him look up and around. No one was there but him and Rob. His eyes fell on his sister. She just raised a sheet to hang it over the line when she stopped. Almost dreamlike she lowered it, and he saw, a brief glimpse through the flapping of the white material in the wind – Him standing there in the grass several yards away.

Robbie suddenly looked over in that direction and Barry scrambled to his feet without really knowing why. He could see over her now, and he could see that it was gone... but he didn't like the way she scanned the grasses as though she knew that someone had been watching her... that was what frightened Barry... it had been watching her... not him.

Tom's eyes fell on Barry out on the porch. Robbie was hanging things on the line. His stomach turned over slightly when he remembered Barry's words last night –

"I miss Paul," he'd said, and the reluctance in his voice – the fact that he didn't want to say it, but he did was what made Tom upset. He knew then – it became solid fact that what Barry had with Paul was just as real as what he had with Laura – because he missed her desperately.

Quickly he turned his thoughts away from her. He had to worry about Barry now. It wouldn't do to get upset.

It didn't get better. Barry noticed the way Robbie would jump when he and Tom would enter the kitchen in the evenings where she was washing the dishes. She had never been a skittish person. It made him wonder what she had seen or heard, but they agreed not to question her. That couldn't make it better.

What unnerved Tom the most was stepping into a room to have his Father look up at him and raise his eyebrows.

"Well?" the older man asked.

"What?" Tom was thoroughly confused. At first it was almost amusing.

"I asked you to bring me that book..." his father said. "Did you forget already?"

"What book?" Tom found his voice strained – almost a whisper. He could hear Barry talking to Robbie in the sitting room... His father hadn't mistaken one twin for the other...

"The one on birds, boy! Are you losing your mind?" his Father snapped. Tom turned on his heel and went to get it, his heart banging in his chest.

It wasn't hard to guess who his father had been talking to... and he hadn't realized.

Barry pushed open their bedroom door and looked up. He stopped dead and dropped the mug of tea he was holding. It shattered and the hot liquid pooled around his feet as he stared into It's eyes for the first time in his life. They were narrower than either his or Tom's, but the same colour. It's mouth was turned up at the corners in a wicked little smile – like a goblin. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't find his voice to call for Tom.

It was so solid – so real – and illuminated by the lamp. That was the worst part – it wasn't just a shadow.

There was a rushing in his ears, and suddenly, someone grabbed his arm. He jumped, his heart pounding so hard it hurt and he looked around to face Tom whose eyes were fixed on a point in the middle of their room. Barry looked around again. He wasn't surprised to find Him gone.

Tom pulled him out of the room, leaving the shattered remains of the cup on the floor. They took refuge in the living room, sitting together on the couch, Tom never removing his grip from Barry's arm.

That was where they fell asleep.

Barry's eyes focused on the horizon from the kitchen window. It seemed forever away. He wondered if he should just leave... at least that would make them safe.

But he was too afraid to be alone with It. He knew that he was stupid to have ever thought he could come back here to the Head without Tom in the first place.

Paul picked up the ringing phone to hear Zak's voice. He realized with a jolt that it was a day after the one year contract was up. He had no obligation to see the boys now, even though he wanted to, and they had no obligation to come back.

When Zak asked if he would be willing to play guitar for another band, Paul said he didn't know... they ended the conversation politely, but Paul could tell Zak was angry. He'd never been turned down by Paul before. He hadn't been turned down by anyone for a long time. But Paul still hadn't given up hope for the Bang Bang.

Barry heard the door slam as Tom disappeared into the house. Barry searched the dark yard, but saw nothing. He would be alright – Tom was coming back out in a minute.

He wasn't thinking about anything specific... in fact, he hadn't been thinking about anything at all to do with Him... but a sudden realization came to him – an idea that jolted him so hard...

When Tom came back out onto the deck, Barry was gone.

It was a new moon. The water looked black as Barry approached it, and it didn't get any clearer as he stopped just at its edge. He couldn't think too much about it or It would realize what he was going to do...

He toed his shoes off and stepped into the cold water. It wasn't unbearable though. He waded out until it lapped at his stomach every time a wave came... Just where the join was – where the join _had _been... he'd forgotten.

_Don't think, don't think_, he told himself as he began to wade out more. Saying it over and over in his head – It couldn't know.

He had his arms raised over the water. The waves were smaller here, and he stopped when the water reached his ribs. Slowly he lowered his arms in – shivering a little when the wind blew.

All he had to do was—

Taking a breath, he went under, pushing himself down, keeping himself there.

If it thought he was going to kill himself – of course he wouldn't really...

_No!_ He thought – but it was too late. He registered the dark shape in front of him and broke the surface, wiping the water from his eyes. It stood there in front of him.

_Fool._ It hadn't opened it's mouth – Barry was reading his thoughts. Before he could determine whether that was good or bad, it had grabbed his shoulders –about to push him under.

If it killed him...

Barry knew suddenly that he still had some control over this situation. It was touching him now – its fingers digging hard into his shoulder blades,

_If one of us dies... then we both die..._ and Tom wasn't connected to him anymore. So Barry could take this thing with him...

He reached up and grasped the thing – his brother – the third one – by the wrists and went under again. He caught the look of surprise on It's face.

"Barry!" he heard, just before he went under. _Tom._ He thought.

He hadn't gotten enough air. The idea had come too quickly and he needed to breathe before it even started to struggle. When it did, his resolve hardened. He felt sick from more than just lack of oxygen – his lungs began to burn.

He just hoped Tom wouldn't come in after him. Wouldn't try to save him. He knew it was too much to hope for.

Bubbles burst from It's mouth and Barry held tighter to His wrists. He wouldn't be able to hold It down from above. Their struggling had brought them out too deep now. He couldn't touch the bottom.

He shut his eyes – how long did it take to drown?

Barry wanted It gone but he didn't want to die. The only problem was – neither did He.


	12. Part Twelve

**SEPARATION ANXIETY**

Part 12

Tom stepped back out onto the front deck and halted abruptly when he realized that Baz wasn't there. He was so jumpy lately – but you couldn't really blame him. He called his brother's name into the darkness, hoping that he was just... just out of sight. There was no answer.

He started for the beach, knowing, somehow that this was where Barry had gone. He found his feet carrying him faster and faster until he reached the ridge before the land dipped down to the shore. It was too dark to see very far. He called Barry's name again, softly, because in truth, he was afraid to be too loud. He didn't want to attract any unwanted attention.

He walked along, never going down to the shore in case Barry appeared somewhere up here. If he went down to the beach, he wouldn't be able to see the house anymore. One of the lights went out, making him look quickly towards the house – Robbie's room. He wondered if he should go back to get her, but it seemed like a stupid reason. He knew Baz could have just gone for a walk... but it seemed unlikely. He didn't like the way his chest had tightened. Something was wrong.

Water lapped at the sand, splashing up over the rocks by the shore, and that was when he saw his brother. Barry was standing in the water, up to his chest not two feet from Him. It had It's hands on Barry's shoulders. Tom shuddered suddenly. His throat closed up. It was like he was frozen. He saw Barry raise his hands and grasp Him by the wrists, and then they went under.

"Barry!" his voice cut the night air, but they were gone, disappeared for view. The water looked thick, like oil in this light, and he plunged down the steep, rocky hill to the shoreline and ran for the water. He stopped at the water's edge, trying to locate them. Barry's shoes were on the shore, and Tom started there. He darted to the right, then stopped... where were they? He moved to the left again, watching the water, realizing vaguely that he was chanting, "Oh God, no, God, no," over and over. A rush of bubbles broke the surface some yards away from where he stood and he crashed into the water until he was to his waist, then dove under.

It was strange, to swim without Barry, but he didn't think about any of that now. He came up, spitting out salt water, and cursing the darkness. He couldn't find them. Fuck. Oh fuck!

If he lost Barry...

Barry had his eyes shut tightly, struggling to stay under, even though everything inside him told him to go up, get a breath of air. One of those wrists broke free from his grasp, and then a hand was around his throat. It startled him and he gasped, drawing the water into his lungs. He tried to force it out, a cough that only drew in more water. His eyes shot open. No... no, he had to stay under.

Hands were under his arms, and he was confused for a moment. Suddenly cold air hit him and he found himself freed of the hand on his throat, choking up water and gasping in lung full's of air. "Go back," he managed to tell Tommy, still half struggling to keep It under but It broke the surface and he felt Tom lurch back. All three of them went under, and broke apart, confused as to who was who. Which was which. They broke the surface one after the other. First Him, then Tom, then Barry.

Barry would never forget that look it gave him. All knowing. It knew too much about him. It knew everything, and all the hatred that It had for Barry was there, then it was replaced with a horrible smile. It leapt forward, through the water, caught Tom by the hair, and pulled him down.

"No, don't!" Barry cried, lunging forward. He dove, but they weren't in the space they had disappeared. He stumbled on a sudden up-rise of land and realized they had all drifted so far right they had come to the Feather. Or at least he had. "Tom. Tommy..." he repeated his brother's name over and over, diving under and coming up, pacing up and down the stretch of sand they had called the Feather since they were little kids. There was no disturbance in the water. His brother didn't surface. Neither did He.

Barry was gasping now, not paying attention to whether he was sobbing or having trouble breathing or both. Back and forth across that stretch of sand, spinning in a circle, scanning the water. He waded out into the ocean and back again for what seemed like hours, but Tom never came up.

Try as he might, there was nothing – not even a space in his head where It had been. He was cut off now. It was gone – perhaps – but with it, his brother.

His brother's name still cut past his lips, changing in volume and intensity. He wasn't sure what made him turn towards the shelter of rocks, but dawn was blazing a dull green on the horizon, and the water was turning more grey than black. Fog began to rise off of the surface.

He got there, and stopped, staring at the empty space. There were carvings in the rock. Every time they had come here they had written something, except the time that they had kissed and they hadn't wanted to remember because it had been awkward, but that was what Barry remembered the most now. The way Tom's hands, darkened by the sun, had run down his back, and it was too hot in the summer air... the taste of blackberries.

He fell to his knees in the sand, pushing himself back into the shadow of the rock and covering his head with his hands. The renewed sobs were raw in his throat.

Tom pushed himself up, water lapping at him, cold from the night air. He shivered and pulled himself slowly, shakily out of it and onto the shore. He raised his hand to the back of his head and pulled it away, covered in sticky blood. He made a face and wiped it on his jeans which were soaked through. He was cold.

He remembered with a jolt what had happened, and staggered to his feet, looking around him, but he was alone. He took a few experimental steps and jumped, a cry escaping him as a huge group of white Sea birds erupted from the long reeds in front of him and took off into the air, crying indignantly.

He started for the house, but something told him not to. Half way there, he turned around and retraced his steps to where this had all started.

Barry had covered the entire expanse of the Feather and then waded back to follow the shore-line of the beach twice before the sun had risen. He was on the Feather now. It was the third time he turned towards the beach again that he stopped in his tracks. He knew it was Tom even before his brother emerged from the fog, and he knew that It wasn't with him – there, in his head, or otherwise because the way Tom's expression changed to one of intense relief when he saw Barry, the way they met in the waves between the Feather and the rocky part of the shore in the fog, and Tom's hands on Barry's face before they clutched at each other, both shaking with cold and exhaustion while the waves crashed around their legs.

"I thought you were dead," Barry said, his voice breaking.

"Hush,"

"I'd kill myself without you,"

"Barry, no."

Neither one wanted to go back. Suddenly nothing made sense. Was It gone? There was nothing in Barry's head, there... there was... oh... _nothing._

"Let's go back," Tom said, pulling away as Barry's arms slipped from his back to fall limply at his sides. He pulled away and turned towards the house. Something made him turn back to his brother quickly. Barry stood there, staring straight ahead, his eyes clouded.

"Baz?" Tom asked, his voice almost a whisper. Barry did nothing. Just stood there. Suddenly his legs seemed to give out and Tom lunged forward and caught him, struggling to pull him back to his feet. Barry didn't help. Like a doll, he stood when Tom pushed him upright again, but did nothing more.

"Barry? What is it? Barry, what? What, Baz?" Barry wasn't even looking at him. He was staring past Tom's shoulder. Tom turned quickly, expecting to see Him, but nothing was there. "BARRY!" His voice echoed over the water.

Nothing.

"Well, he's suffered some sort of shock," the doctor said, scratching his ear and studying Baz, who was sitting, legs pulled to his chest on their bed, his back against the headboard, his hands limp in his lap, palms up and fingers curled into a relaxed position, as though waiting for someone to hand him something. He stared ahead with a glazed expression.

"Any idea what could have caused it?" Everyone looked at Tom. Robbie, his father and the doctor. Everyone but his twin. He kept his eyes on Baz. "He-" he cut off abruptly. It had always been their secret. Theirs alone. He didn't think Barry would want anyone to know. Especially someone as informal as a doctor, even if he _had_ known them all their lives. Barry hated doctors. Tom wasn't about to tell one. "I... dunno." He finally said.

"That's a nasty cut you've got on your head." The doctor said. "You should let me take a look at if before I leave."

Tom let himself be proceeded into the kitchen where the doctor examined him as he had with Barry – things that seemed unimportant and trivial. His eyes, his heart, his mouth... they cleaned the wound, and the doctor said that it looked worse than it was. He wouldn't even need a bandage.

"Head wounds tend to bleed a lot," the doctor said, but you seem all right. Any unusual pain and you can call on me, but I'm sure it will be fine. If there's any change in Barry, you call on me as well."

Robbie said that they would, escorted him out the door and then turned back to the kitchen to speak to Tom, but he was already gone, racing up the stairs to their room. She caught her father's eyes and held them, but then he turned and closed the door to his study, leaving her alone.

When Tom entered their room, what he saw twisted his heart. Barry had moved his hand, palm down now, across the covers, reaching towards the door. He still didn't want to be alone. He watched his brother's arm relax when he heard Tom cross the creaking floorboard and climb onto the bed beside him, pulling Barry's head down onto his shoulder. Barry sighed softly, barely noticeable, but nothing else.

"Barry, what is it?" he asked softly, turning his face to speak into Barry's hair. "What's wrong? Tell me."

He hadn't really expected an answer.

He remembered how Barry had stayed with him in the hospital, and he didn't leave his brother's side. Robbie brought food to them, but Barry hardly ate. After a week of this, Robbie continuously asked Tom to come out, but he refused.

But Barry would rise with him if Tom looped his arm around his shoulders and pulled him up, and he would walk around the house, but he didn't say a word. He didn't try to go anywhere Tom didn't lead him. He didn't look at anyone or anything.

It was frightening for Tom. He would sit and talk to Barry for hours, and never get a response. He finally broke down and tried pleading with him, provoking him, but nothing worked. Once, he tried calling on It, but it had never answered to him. There was no sign of anything from Barry, and Tom was too afraid to do it again.

Well past midnight one night Robbie pushed open the door to their room. Tom squinted and sat up as she crossed the room to the bed and sat down facing him.

"Tom-"

"I don't know what to do, Robbie... What if he never-" it was the first time he'd ever voiced this fear.

She looked away, her eyes on Barry who was sleeping huddled against Tom's side.

"I thought... I have an idea..."

"What?"

She handed Tom a letter. "It's from Laura Ashworth,"

"From Laura?" he took it from her. It was still unopened.

"What if you asked her to come here?"

"To the Head?" Tom asked, incredulously,

"You talked about her a lot in your letters, both of you"

"But-"

"I just thought it might shock him out of it. I was thinking about it just now and it seemed... I don't know, it seemed like the right thing to do,"

"But, Rob-"

"It's worth a try. You should just ask her. For Barry,"

"I will, but..."

"What?"

"When did you get this?" It had been months since they'd left Humbleden. When had Laura written? All of their mail came from the mainland once a month in the mornings. Not in the middle of the night.

"Just now... Burt had it,"

"What were you doing out-"

"Don't tell Dad," she interrupted, brushing Barry's hair from his face and kissing Tom on top of the head before she left the room. He got the feeling she didn't want to talk about it. It wasn't like Robbie to sneak out in the middle of the night to see the boatman, but it suddenly occurred to Tom that he was only a few years older than her... maybe Baz had been right. He was the only person that continuously visited their home...

He was really the only person Robbie had had for the past year other than Dad.

Tom reached across Barry to flick the light on and read the letter.

_Tom,_

_How are you? How's Barry?_

_There's nothing really going on here, I'm staying at Humbleden to get some of my unfinished work together so I can possibly start on something new._

_It's actually been quite quiet. Tubs and Spitz, the crew and Eddie are gone, and Nick's only around here half the time he used to be. (Thank God) Paul's spoken to Zak about re-signing you, but I told him he should write to you both first and see what you thought, but he hasn't yet, that I know of, and if he has, he hasn't mentioned anything to me._

_He was asked to play in another band – guitar this time, but he turned it down, so I think he really misses your band. He did ask me to ask you if you were still playing guitar. I think he's afraid you'll forget everything he taught you. He hovered around for a bit while I wrote this, and then said, "Tell the lads I say 'Hi', and tell—tell Barry that..." Exactly like that, so I don't know what he wanted to say to Barry, because he trailed off and then went to have a fag._

_I miss you very much, and I'm still at Humbleden until I can afford a place of my own or something of that sort, but until then you can always find me here and I'll be sure to send you any new addresses (if I find anything I can afford)._

_I know you just got home, but I wish you were here. It's strange not knowing what's going on with you, and you left really, really suddenly and so I'm not too sure what's happened, or if there's something really wrong, and I haven't heard from you, so... you know._

_Write me back some time when you get a free moment._

_I hope everything's all right. _

_All my love to you and Barry (tell him to be good.)_

_I miss you,_

_Laura._

He realized that he'd hardly told her anything. He'd been so worried about it at the time of leaving, he hadn't thought to explain to Laura what was going on, and now she was worrying... more than anything he realized how much he missed her.

He looked down at Barry. It seemed like Laura had a lot going on. He wondered if she would have time to come.

He wanted to see her... the way her writing got messier near the end of the letter told him how quickly she'd been writing – how worried she was. It wasn't just words on paper.

If she knew about Barry, she would come... she would.

And then he remembered Barry's words.

"_I miss Paul."_ Well, it was worth a shot, wasn't it?


	13. Part Thirteen

**SEPARATION ANXIETY**

Part 13

"Barry..." Tom shook Barry's shoulder lightly. His twin's eyes flickered open but they never moved to him. Instead, he continued to stare straight ahead. Morning sunlight was shining through their open window and the sea birds were making a racket, yet it hadn't been them that had woken Tom. He'd written Laura back – told her he was sorry he hadn't explained anything before they left, and that he was okay but that Barry wasn't. He explained to her what he understood, but not really what had happened. He wasn't even sure how he could explain that to her. He didn't want to frighten her away.

Their father had been entirely too formal with Robbie for days after she told him, but then he lapsed back into normality, although their sister was still careful around him.

Barry hadn't gotten worse or better. He moved with Tom like a dead limb - he only moved what he had to and it was frustrating and frightening. Tom didn't want to do this forever. Pull Baz around like this, but he didn't want to leave him either. All he had to do was remember the way his brother's hand had been outstretched towards the door to make him swallow his annoyance and be there for him. With him.

So now he pulled a sweater over his head and pulled a jacket on over his brother's shoulders before looping an arm around him. They moved downstairs as one, and Barry staggered forward when Tom stopped to pull open the front door, as though he didn't even see the faded wood in front of him. Didn't realize that they were going to stop.

The air was cool but heavy with mist and Tom set out across the yard, cutting around the back of the Abbey and going towards the marshes – the way that Barry always wanted to go, but Tom didn't like much. He glanced towards him for something – realization, smugness – that Tom was doing what he, Barry, wanted, but there was nothing. For all Tom knew, Barry didn't even know where he was walking.

Tom's eyes were fixed on the ground as he walked. It began to rain, but he didn't turn back. Robbie would be up by now. Usually she was up before them, but he was having trouble sleeping. Their house looked about half the size of his palm when they stopped. He stopped, so Barry stopped. Tom studied his profile, just staring ahead, his head tucked down only slightly towards his chest. Rain dripped from the ends of his hair, and the heaviness of the air seemed to have lifted. It wasn't going to last for long, Tom guessed.

He stepped directly in front of Barry and grasped his shoulders, bending forward a little and looking directly into his brother's blank stare. "Barry... I need to you walk by yourself now." Barry's eyes didn't move, but there was a faint creasing of his brow – only for an instant. Tom might have imagined it. He let go of his brother's shoulders and took several slow steps away from him. "Come on, Baz,"

Barry didn't move, but Tom didn't stop. He walked backwards, faster, several more steps. Finally he turned, reluctantly and started walking away, slowly. He forced himself not to look back. After a moment, he realized how much he'd missed this freedom – it had taken so long to adjust too, but now he was used to it. He walked faster. Finally he stopped and stood, staring across the marshes. The rain had lightened already. He turned back.

Barry was in the spot he had left him. "Barry," he called and he watched as one of Barry's hands jumped, curling into a fist slightly, then relaxing.

Barry half sunk, half fell to the ground, as though he couldn't hold himself up anymore. His legs were sprawled to one side of him, but he was still sitting up. Tom let out a sudden breath and ran back to his side, crouching down in front of him.

"Hey," he tilted Barry's chin up, feeling the tensed muscles in his brother's jaw, the way his breath was quicker than normal. "I wasn't going to leave you," Tom said, his hands cupping Barry's face, then releasing him to pull him upright again. Barry stumbled a little, falling against Tom's chest so he wrapped his arms around him. Barry's arms hung at his sides. "I wasn't, I wasn't," Tom said.

The rain stopped, they headed for home.

The salt wind blew his dark hair from his face, and he felt Laura's arm brush his as she stepped out of the boat beside him.

"Just head straight. You'll get to the top o' the hill, and then you'll see it," the boatman said. After a moment, the motor started up again, and the boat pushed away from the shore. "Thank you," He heard Laura say faintly at his side.

"I dunno if this is a good idea," Paul said, pushing a hand through his hair and taking in the posts, hung with several different types of birds. She didn't answer, so he said, "Let's go, then,"

"God," Laura whispered when the house came into view. "I pictured..." Paul glanced at her, slightly jealous. The boys had never gone into details about their home with him as they had with Laura... but then again he hadn't asked too much about it.

They made their way down the slope, slipping slightly in the wet grass. "I feel like we shouldn't be here," Laura said as they crossed the garden to the deck. She raised her hand to knock, half glancing back at Paul as though to be sure he was still there, backing her up, but then the door was pulled open with a sound that made both of them jump.

Laura looked directly into the blue eyes, so much like Tom and Barry's in a more soft, feminine face. For a moment, they stared at each other, then she looked over Laura's shoulder to Paul. "My brothers went out early this morning. They should be back soon though."

The way she said that, 'my brothers' it was like... it was like it was more than that, and Laura wanted to record her voice, interview her saying that, because she'd never quite heard anything like it. It was possessive in a way that reminded her of a mother saying 'My sons" or "my husband," to the woman who had been clinging to said husband's arm, but it was also affectionate. Like the way a small town referred to their most treasured building – that they all felt a part of and wanted to protect and preserve through the ages.

When Paul smiled at her, she smiled back and the tension broke slightly. "I can make you some tea if you'd like," Robbie said, her voice softer, almost shy, but she still held herself upright, confident in her surroundings, even as she stood in pants that had undoubtedly been Tom or Barry's at some point and had been torn off just below the knee and a heavy cotton shirt that took away any shape she might have. She was in her bare feet and her hair hung unevenly around her face and the back of her neck, falling out of the elastic. But something about her made Laura respect her immediately.

"Tom's been watching over him." Robbie said suddenly, looking past both of them over the marshlands. "It's... the doctor said it was some kind of shock—oh, there." She raised her head slightly and Paul and Laura turned away from her to look in the direction she'd indicated. Tom and Barry appeared from behind the large stone structure sheltering the house from the sea. Their hair was wet and they both looked pale and drawn. Tom was speaking, but they were too far away to hear anything but a faint murmur.

Laura moved first, moving down the steps and onto the grass. Tom looked up and she gave a nervous laugh that ended abruptly as she crossed the yard and they wrapped their arms around each other. One of Tom's hands clutched the side of Barry's coat. Laura pulled away and looked Barry over, saying his name softly, touching his face and his wet hair, but she didn't get a response.

Paul followed more slowly, his eyes not moving from Barry's face. Tom noticed that the bruises were now completely faded from his face. Laura watched the half smile break over his face, almost nervously, then fade quickly. "Hey, Baz," he said quietly and he moved to raise his hand, but then seemed to realize where he was and stopped. There was no reaction from Barry.

Barry felt Tom's arm slip away from him, and the world shattered a little. Whiteness flooded his head and he tried to say his brother's name, but it just wouldn't come. He wanted to follow him. He understood that Tom was moving away from him...

But then Tom's hands were back, Tom was there... and then a low voice – he knew her voice. He knew it from somewhere. And then he thought, Laura – but no, they were home, they were on the Head... so why was she...?

Paul...

Tom's arm moved tightly around Barry's shoulders, clutching the blue material of his jacket. After a moment the four of them turned back towards the house. Robbie moved into the house that seemed dark against the brightness of the morning and they followed her.

She didn't sit down with them, but disappeared into the kitchen to make tea. Tom heard the noise of the dishes stop occasionally as she listened to them.

Tom stared down at his hands as he twisted them in front of him, ran his fingers over the tabletop and played with the sleeves of his shirt.

"Came out on the deck and he wasn't there so I... went out to look for him... and then he was out in the water, on the beach and that and..." he took a breath. How much should he tell? "Um... there – I could tell that it was there, you know and..."

"Wait, you mean... what was there, Tom?" Robbie entered the room and placed the tea cups on the table. There was a hesitation, and she hovered around behind Tom for a moment before disappearing back upstairs.

"Hasn'tgotaname," Tom said in one nervous exhale. Paul's leg gave an involuntary twitch, and he shifted, looking away from Tom, but listening intently. "And so they went under... underwater, and I couldn't find them... And then... It sort of... I..." Tom ran his hands through his hair, pulling at it slightly,

"Tom," Laura said softly, and Tom shook his head as though shaking someone's hand away.

"And then, it was like... I..." he looked around the room, searching for the words. "I lost Barry, because we came up, like, and then _I_ went under and then we lost each other... and I hit my head... and then I found him again... it was hours later, and he was all right... but then he wasn't."

"How long has it been like this?" Laura asked after a pregnant pause.

"Weeks," Tom answered.

"Fuck," Paul said, pushing his chair back.

"And we thought, Robbie and me thought, that maybe if there were more people around – or, well, you've never been here, so maybe it would, like, shock him out of it," Tom said quickly. He found, suddenly, that he didn't want them here. This was _their _home. _Their _place... not Paul and Laura`s... but then again, Humbleden must have been like that for them too. It was all the same thing in the end.

No one spoke. No one wanted to ask: 'What if it doesn`t work?'

They arrived upstairs and moved down the dark hallway. Paul caught a glimpse of the boy's father hunched over a dead bird in his lamp-lit study and looked away quickly. The house seemed too small for so many people at once.

Robbie and was perched precariously beside Barry on the bed, one of her small hands wrapped around his, and she looked up when they entered. There was a light in her eyes, Paul noticed, a determination and he suddenly felt as though a huge task had been placed on his and Laura's shoulders.

She let go of Barry's hand and slipped off of the bed without a word, slipping between Paul and Laura. Paul tried not to notice the way her eyes lingered on him. After a moment, he heard her go down the steps

She wasn't exactly shy, but Laura noticed how Roberta didn't seem to like being around her and Paul too much... or maybe she was just giving them privacy.

Tom moved to the bed at once, pulling Barry's head down onto his shoulder and Laura sat in front of him, her legs drawn up under her. Paul leaned against the window frame, watching them. The conversation wasn't difficult but it was tense and everyone's eyes kept flickering back to Baz who had closed his eyes. Sometimes they would stop, and Laura or Tom would speak to him.

Paul eventually trained his eyes on the floor. Tom kept looking at him, and he didn't like the way the gaze was almost a challenge. Laura was in the middle of saying something to Barry when Tom said, "Why don't you try talking to him Paul?" He couldn't understand why the bassist was suddenly so distant. Paul had never been the centre of attention, but he hadn't hoped for him to come so that he could just linger in the background and not try to help at all. He was angry at him for it. For his apparent disinterest in Barry.

Laura's eyes flickered between Tom and Paul a little nervously, but then Paul moved away from the window and stood beside him. Barry might have been sleeping. "Barry-" he began, his voice breaking a little. He cleared his throat. "Come on, mate, don't be like this..." he laughed a little, but there was no humour behind it. His eyes were dark and sad. "We need you here, Barry,"

Barry's blue eyes suddenly flicked open. He blinked as though trying to adjust to the dim lighting, and Tom tensed, but Barry's gaze never focused on anything. Paul's eyes moved quickly between Barry's. "Please, Baz..." he whispered.

Barry turned his face towards Tom, but then his eyes closed again and it was almost as though it hadn't happened at all.

Paul was sitting with Robbie at the kitchen table. Tom and Laura were upstairs like Barry and Paul just felt like a crowd if he was up there. He caught Robbie studying him curiously and he tilted his head a little and smiled at her.

"You're not what I pictured," she said after a moment, "When Tom and Barry talked about you."

"Did they?" he asked.

"In their letters, you know. And they played a couple of songs for me on that guitar. I really liked them, but..." her eyes clouded a little and she looked away, worry evident in her face.

"I think Barry'll be all right," he said after a moment, wishing he could believe it. She looked up at him and smiled. "Barry respects you, a lot I think. I didn't... I didn't get that from the other people he would mention in the letters, and so..."

Paul smiled and looked away, but Robbie watched how his eyes searched the room without seeing it. He looked troubled.

"Paul," Paul and his sister turned towards the entrance when Tom stood, watching them. "I want to speak with you," he said, and Paul automatically stood and followed him out onto the deck.

"Laura said that you wanted to forget everything," he said, rounding on him and Paul took a surprised step back, "I—what?"

"She said that you didn't want to stay with him,"

_Barry_, Paul thought, dread flooding him. He didn't want to have this conversation now. Especially not with Tom. He made up his mind never to tell Laura anything again.

"Do you _remember_ what I said to you, Paul?" Tom asked with a strange ferocity that seemed to loom just under the surface of his calm exterior. "I told you that if you hurt him-"

"I haven't," Paul said, softly.

"But you're going to. You want to tell him that you don't want him anymore,"

"Tom," Paul began, shaking his head,

"D'you understand what that's going to do to him?" Tom asked. Paul sighed and looked away.

"I'm not going to say anything to him right now. I-"

"Why?" Tom asked.

"Why what?"

"I want to know why."

Paul shifted his weight uncomfortably and didn't answer.

"He listened to you, Paul. He opened his eyes when you spoke to him, and he wouldn't for me. I've been talking to him for-" he took a breath and continued. "You're the only person he'd talked about since we got back home. You're the first person he liked at Humbleden. You're the first person that made him and me feel like we belonged there, and you don't _know_ what that meant to Barry."

"Tom..." Paul began without knowing how he was going to finish.

"Please." The word came out flatly. "You can't do this to him."

"I don't know what I can—it's for the best. You saw what happened to me."

"He loves you," Tom said, his eyes boring into Paul's, and he heard Paul's sharp intake of breath, "One of the last things he said to me was that he missed you. Not... Laura or anyone... and... and he won't listen to me, and I've _tried_... So please."

"Did he tell you that?" Paul asked after a moment.

"He didn't have to," Tom answered, before he turned and waited at the door, holding it open for Paul who followed him inside.

"I'll try again," Paul said before they reached the kitchen. "I'll try again, Tom, but I don't know... I don't know if it's going to work, so..." They held each other's eyes for a long moment, then Paul turned up the narrow staircase, and didn't look back. Tom went to find his sister.

He'd expected Laura to be there, then realized that Tom had intended to come back up to be with Barry as soon as they came indoors. Barry was curled into a ball on top of the covers, his eyes staring ahead. His hands were pulled in close to his body, crossed at the wrists. Paul remembered him sleeping like that. He leaned against the doorframe, looking away.

How could he have thought he could just push Baz away? He used the boys going back to the Head as a way to make it easier for himself. Because then he wouldn't have to see Barry... and he could move on...

But now he realized that he hadn't been moving on. He hadn't taken that offer to play in the other band. He hadn't gone out. He hadn't gone back to his flat... he hadn't _wanted_ to move on.

He thought he heard a movement, rustling against the bed sheets but when he looked up, Barry didn't appear to have moved. He wanted to speak to him... he did... but the realization that he would go in there, and just talk... and even if Baz could hear him, if he couldn't come out of this... this state he was in...

Paul should have gotten more out of him. He should have made him tell him what was going on before it went out of control – before it had broken him.

Hasn't got a name... well he could go fuck himself for what he put Barry through his whole life, for all Paul cared.

The anger that rose in him almost let him get enough courage to go in there, but then he couldn't... it just made it more and more permanent that Baz wasn't going to speak again... or look at him or touch him or—none of that. Nothing.

_I'm sorry_, Paul thought, and whether he was speaking to Tom or Barry, he wasn't sure. He turned away from the door and moved towards the stairs.

There was a sudden noise and Paul jumped and turned around. The glass of water that had been on the table beside the bed rolled along the floor, spilling water out over the wood. Barry pulled his hand back towards himself and then Paul was at his side, crouching down, his hand automatically moving to Barry's hair.

"Baz?" he whispered. Barry blinked, but nothing else. "Fuck, Barry, _please_." Paul's hand slid to his jaw line, asking for anything, a word, a sound, those eyes to _focus_ on something. "Please, Baz." He moved closer, pressing his forehead against Barry's temple and closing his eyes. Barry drew in a breath, and Paul ran his thumb under Barry's mouth. He wished he'd thought to close the door.

He whispered his name again, moving up to kiss his forehead. "I miss you... and... I'm here now, so I shouldn't," he swallowed when the last word came out a bit broken. He pulled back to look at him. Barry's eyes were shut and a muscle in his jaw tensed.

"Just look at me, Barry," he waited, but there was no response. Just when he'd look away, Barry's eyes flickered open and Paul caught the movement in his peripheral vision. He looked back and felt his heart stop when their gazes locked. Paul was frozen, afraid to move, afraid to speak or break the contact that they had.

Barry knew Paul was there... but then he was leaving, why was everyone always leaving? _No..._ The light from the bedside lamp glared slightly off of the glass of water on the bedside table. _Always leaving, always leaving..._

It was cold against his fingertips when he touched it, and he pushed it over. He heard Paul stop, and then _oh, God, _Paul was there, Paul's hand in his hair, and so close... He couldn't speak – why?

"Just look at me, Barry," it took a minute for the words to register, but then he did. It hurt to focus on something, and he almost closed his eyes again, but then Paul's dark eyes met his...

He swallowed, and inhaled, shakily. "Hi," he said. The word came out slightly strained and hoarse, and Paul let out a harsh breath that might have been half laughing.

"Hey," Paul answered softly "Is that all you can come up with?"

Barry's brow furrowed. It was taking a long time for everything to make sense, all the words...

"What?" he asked, and Paul shook his head, pressing his forehead against Barry's again. One of Barry's hands slid up to hold the fabric of his shirt, just over his shoulder.

"You never said goodbye," Barry said after a minute.

"Shh," Paul answered, feeling his stomach knot. He could explain later.

Barry's breath ghosted over his jaw line and Paul shuddered slightly. They couldn't do this here...

Barry's hand closed tightly on Paul's shirt, then relaxed. It was hard to stay tense – tiring. He turned his head slightly, his mouth centimetres from Paul's. There were footsteps on the stairs and he felt Paul's sudden, startled exhale before he pulled away. Barry didn't let go of his shirt, so they were still very close. Barry's eyes were fixed on his, then they flickered to the door and the two of them broke apart.

"Barry," Tom said, at the same time as Barry whispered Tom's name. His brother half pulled Barry up, the singer's arms around his neck, half holding himself up as Tom hugged him. Barry looked slightly confused. Paul stood up, and met Laura's eyes. She tilted her head a little at him, a half smile on her face and Paul pressed his ring to his mouth out of habit, just for something to do, and looked away.

When Tom pulled away, Laura moved forward and hugged Barry, whispering something in his ear. Barry met Paul's eyes over her shoulder and it was a strange look, like he was startled... but... that wasn't quite right. Paul looked at Laura as she pulled back, but she didn't look at him again.


	14. Part Fourteen

**SEPARATION ANXIETY**

Part 14

Barry tired easily; sometimes he wouldn't realize someone was speaking to him. He was much quieter than normal. He seemed to stay inside his head even when he was in a crowd. He stuck next to Tom, Paul and Robbie like glue.

Paul came downstairs one morning to find all three siblings side by side on the ratty couch in the living room, Barry's head resting on Robbie's shoulder as she paged through a book, and Tom sitting on his brother's other side with his arm around him. Paul hesitated in the doorway, not sure if he should interrupt. He always felt slightly displaced out here. Not lonely, not really, because there was someone around all the time, but he couldn't imagine living here... Even while he _was_ out here – waking up to the strange, diluted morning light and going about the day – keeping to himself unless someone engaged him... he knew that he would be going back to London soon... these people... they'd been out here for years.

Paul wasn't sure when he was going back. He assumed he would be going with Laura, but they hadn't spoken about it. And really, he didn't want to leave... or rather, he didn't want to leave _Barry_.

He was about to slip away from the doorway when Barry's eyes flickered towards him, jumping slightly as though expecting the person in the doorway to be someone, _something_ else. His movement made both Robbie and Tom to look around, and Paul found himself tensing slightly.

That's what it was, Paul thought; this displacement. Like he _shouldn't_ be here. Like he didn't fit. Didn't belong.

"Paul." Barry said, raising his head from Robbie's shoulder, and all of Paul's previous thoughts melted away.

He took a step into the room and smiled at the three of them, but his eyes strayed back to Barry. His hair was still messed up from sleep which hadn't been that long ago. He was wearing an oversized sweater over his pants that fell past his hips when he uncurled his legs from under him and slipped away from his brother and sister and crossed the room to Paul's side. "Come out for a walk with me, Paul?" he asked softly, tugging at Paul's wrist as he passed him to the pile of shoes by the door.

Paul glanced back at Tom and Robbie. Tom glanced away when Paul met his eyes but Robbie was watching him curiously. "Did you want breakfast or anything?"

Paul smiled at her. If he had learned anything about Robbie in the few days he'd known her, it was that she tried to keep herself busy all the time. Like she was afraid of doing nothing – letting her mind wander too much. Perhaps the way to get through the desolate location was to not think about it. But she often seemed content... still, he felt bad to have her waiting on them.

"No, I'm fine, thanks," he said, before turning to follow Barry into the darkened hallway, where there were no windows. Barry took his hand, before opening the door, and without a word they slipped out into the damp morning.

"I want to show you something," Barry said, pushing the door shut with his shoulder and free hand, then pulling Paul off the deck. Paul was distracted by their hands. It was childish, the way siblings held hands, not lovers, or... if that was what they were... Paul thought, taking a breath.

They walked for several minutes, somewhere to the left of the house, in complete silence. Paul sped up to walk next to Barry, who was walking quickly. He turned sharply when they came to a sort of swampy patch, and they climbed a natural rock path that encircled it. The rocks were barely visible, covered in moss and other growths. Just as suddenly, they stopped. The sun was beginning to break through the mist, colouring the clouds on the horizon a dulled yellow.

"Might not work today," Barry said.

Paul followed Barry's gaze out over the flat land. "What?" he asked.

"What did-" Barry began, hesitantly, but then he stopped, still staring out over the water-logged land. Mist was rising from the many small pools of water, where it was too much for the land to hold after last night's rain.

"What?" Paul asked again, turning towards him. Barry was still holding Paul's hand tightly in his.

"Nothing." He heaved a sigh and turned towards the bassist, resting his head against his shoulder, leaning against Paul's side.

"All right, Baz?" Paul asked.

"Yes." Barry was politer out here, it seemed. Perhaps he had drifted into his childhood mentality, when his sister and his father took care of him – ensured he behaved himself.

Paul laughed softly, remembering the previous night when Barry had dropped his fork and automatically said, "Fuck." before he dove under the table to fetch it. It had been unlucky that no one had been speaking at the time. Tom kicked his brother's leg under the table, his eyes darting to their father's face.

Albert Howe stared at his son as Barry re-emerged from under the table and their eyes met. Barry seemed to freeze in perfect, child-like realization - when they _know_ they're in trouble.

The Barry that Paul knew from Humbleden would spit out offensive words all the time without a second thought. Then there was the smoking, the drinking, and the drugs. The flashing of rude hand gestures... without giving a _fuck_ what other people thought. This sudden worry Baz had now about getting into trouble was almost funny.

He watched Albert's eyes move to Robbie who looked away quickly down at her food. Barry slowly put his fork down beside his plate, his eyes flickering from his sister to his father. No one said anything...

"Pass the butter," Tom said, his voice bright and Laura made a little explosive noise to Paul's left, then cleared her throat, and he had to press his hand to his mouth to stop himself laughing.

"What?" Barry asked, pressing his head closer to Paul's neck.

"Nothing," Paul said. "You."

"What?"

"Nothing, just," Paul actually laughed and Barry pulled away, watching him curiously. "It's different out here," Paul said, "You seem... it's different, and I feel like we've corrupted you or something, out in Humbleden... last night, with the fork, you know..."

Barry grinned suddenly, one of those wicked grins that Paul knew so well, and he seemed to shine from the strained exterior he'd had on for the past two days since he'd come out of the state he'd been in. "You've corrupted me, Paul,"

Paul made a noise between a laugh and an embarrassed breath, and looked away.

"Look, Paul," Barry tugged his hand gently, and Paul looked ahead of them. The sun had finally broken through, warming them slightly, and one by one the little pools of water lit up, shining with an almost painful brilliance. They gleamed almost ethereally through the rising mist, broken by the tangled branches and brambles that had looked ugly until now. If you looked just above the shining water, it looked like the mist held minuscule beads of gold, only for a brief second, and then they were gone. You couldn't quite fix your eyes on one.

"'S not much. Me and Tom would come out and watch sometimes," Barry said softly.

"You don't see this in London," Paul countered.

"You want to go back, don't you?" Barry asked. "To London?" Paul didn't look at him. He felt Barry tug his hand away and Paul wished he could say something now... say 'no, he didn't want to go back,' but the moment was over. It was too late.

Robbie rolled over, facing the door. She thought she'd heard something, but you could never be sure here. The ocean did strange things and the walls swallowed the wind and changed its sound.

Barry slipped past her door, without glancing in at her. She had no idea what time it was. She didn't have a clock in her room, but it wasn't close to morning yet. She could tell that from the darkness outside.

Carefully, she got up, worried that Barry might have dreamt something – seen something. When she reached the hallway, he'd already slipped down the wooden stairs. She followed without really knowing why.

"Paul," she heard him say, and she stopped abruptly, her face angled towards the floor, one of her small hands resting lightly on the corner of the wall, listening.

"Hey, what's wrong?" she heard Paul murmur, confused and groggy with sleep.

"Come outside with me."

"What time is it? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. It's late. I want you to come out... please."

A pause... then Barry's voice again. "I wanted to talk to you about something... not here."

She heard the springs of the couch creak and soft movements. She slipped back into the shadows, and thought she saw Barry glance in her direction, his eyes sliding over her, but she couldn't be sure, before the two of them pulled shoes on in the hallway and slipped out the door. She heard them leave the deck.

Robbie waited, counting to twenty, before she followed. It was strange to see Barry moving around without Tom, but she thought she sensed something of the same connection with Barry and Paul.

The two of them walked towards the beach, illuminated by a sliver of moonlight. She didn't bother pulling her own shoes on before she slipped after them.

They followed the small cliff of rocks, never going down onto the actual shore. They'd passed the Feather which seemed to be nothing more than a shadow on the waves in this light before they stopped. Robbie couldn't even see the house through the night when she looked back, although she knew where it must stand.

The wind off the water was cold and none of them had brought a jacket. She watched as Barry stepped forward into Paul's arms, which automatically came up to hold his back. She felt her breath hitch a little.

"Laura said..." Barry began, feeling Paul stiffen a little. "She said not to let you have your way. What did she mean?"

Paul knew damn well what she meant. "I don't know," he lied.

"I think you do." Barry challenged, not meeting his eyes. "You're going back to London, aren't you?"

"Well, I have to at some point," Paul answered. The only reason he didn't pull away from Barry was because he was shivering, but then again, so was Paul.

"You don't want me to come with you, do you?" Barry asked, still not looking at him.

"That's not true."

"I want to go back," Barry said.

"I-" Paul began, but found he couldn't finish.

"I want to go back with you," Barry said, and Robbie caught her breath at the sound of his voice. She'd never heard him sound like that before.

"No one's stopping you from coming back," Paul said, afraid of where this was going.

"No, I want to go back with _you_," Barry repeated.

Paul wanted to say yes, but then he remembered the sound of the metal pipe hitting the ground, the pain that had come before. No one would hurt Barry here... he'd been so sure it would be all right, in that moment when Barry had started to speak again, but... but now all his worry and doubt had come back. He just kept rebuilding these walls again and again, starting with Chris, and Barry managed to find a way through every single time, so he just whispered, "Baz..." but found he couldn't continue. He didn't want to get into this.

Barry pushed his hand into Paul's hair and kissed him. Robbie actually gasped and stepped back in surprise, and then she realized she'd already guessed that Paul was more than just a work partner, a friend, to her brother.

Barry pulled back, and looked at him. Paul kept his eyes closed as the singer's other hand pressed against his cheek. "You didn't want all of this to start, did you?" Barry asked.

"I did want it," Paul said. He'd never talked like this with Chris. This was so honest... with Chris it had all been touching and fucking – fucking to make it better, fucking to celebrate, fucking because Paul _knew_ he was fucking Laura and it turned into a desperate attempt to win him back before he gave up altogether. He couldn't win against her.

"I know you did," Barry replied.

"Then why are you asking me?" Paul asked softly.

"Because I wanted to hear you say it." Barry said.

"Why do you want to come back with me?" Paul asked, finally looking at him, but he knew the answer, and Tom's words echoed in his head. _He loves you._ "You don't need me, Barry," he said.

"I do."

"No, you don't," Paul said, slightly exasperated.

"Laura said not to let you get your way," Barry said, watching him intently.

"Fuck Laura. Laura does what's best for her." Paul said, pulling back and stepping away. "You've got Tom, Baz, and you've got Laura, and I'll always be there, but... you don't need me with you."

"I do. I don't care what happens to me, Paul."

"_I do_! And you will when it happens." Paul snapped. "I was lucky. Lots of blokes get killed over this kind of thing. I don't want that to happen to—to you."

"What about Chris?" Barry asked.

"Baz, don't bring Chris into it."

"You let him stay with you,"

Paul looked quickly out over the water. "Don't, Barry, please."

"I don't want to stay here if you're not here." Barry said, and Robbie felt her heart twist. She didn't want her brothers to leave again.

"Don't you want me to come, Paul?" Barry asked, stepping forward and placing his index finger and thumb on either side of Paul's mouth, tilting his head as though to kiss him. Robbie watched as though hypnotized as Paul's chest rise and fall quickly, his eyes moving to Barry's face with a sudden intensity.

"I don't want to see you get hurt," Paul replied before angling his face down. Barry pulled his hand away.

"Do you want me to come? You want me, don't you?" Barry asked, breathing quickly. His eyes were fixed intently on Paul's face, but there was fear there too – what if the answer wasn't the one he depended on?

Paul met his eyes. "_Yes_," he said, then took a deep breath. "But I... I do, but it's... it's so... if people _see_... if people notice, it could be dangerous, and I don't want to fucking... I don't want to put you through that, and I don't... I..."

"I've done it already. It's the same thing. It's the same thing," Barry was saying and Paul stopped his babbling to listen. "Tommy and me... when we were attached together, we made the best of it. _We_ were different, and Dad brought us out to live here on the Head... so no one would see us or hurt us... and we've lived that way until we went to Humbleden, and we had to make the best of it there. And I'm... _here_, Paul, I'm fine."

"But you-" Paul began, but Barry cut him off, talking faster than Paul had ever heard him speak.

"And it was dangerous for us to be out there in London, playing shows in front of all those people, but we did it, and-"

"And you had Nick there," Paul cut it, "And other people to make sure you didn't get hurt, we don't have that Baz."

"I don't care!" Barry said. "It's the same thing, this, with us,"

"It's not, you don't have to do this," Paul cut in desperately, rapidly losing his grip on what he felt he should do to what he so desperately wanted to do and agree with the words Barry was saying.

"How isn't it? Why are you trying so hard to stop everything that we've got, Paul-"

"Barry! You and Tom being conjoined was something you couldn't help."

"Well I can't help this!" Barry cried, raising his hands as though to grab Paul, then throwing them down and looking away. "Fuck!" he cried, looking away. There was the longest silence Paul had ever felt, stretching between them, growing forever longer with every sigh of the sea.

"Yes you can," Paul said. "You're not like me, we've been through this-"

"You can't change what we've started," Barry interrupted, and Paul watched him cross his arms over his stomach, pressing down, something he hadn't done in a while. "You're lying to yourself. Why are you doing this? Why is everyone always fucking trying to get away from me?"

"That's not- I'm not, I'm... I told you I didn't want anything to happen to you, but that doesn't mean that I'm trying to get away, I would never-"

"You're afraid, Paul. Laura told me that too..." Barry said.

"Afraid of what?"

"Of _this_... you had Chris and you still think it's going to end like that, don't you?"

"It damn well almost did!" Paul cried. "Barry, I thought you were never going to speak again, let alone look at me, or fucking... I—we thought we'd lost you Baz, and that... what if it happens again?"

Barry realized with a jolt that he had almost died the same way – underwater... it would have looked like a suicide...

"He hasn't spoken to me, He hasn't said anything!" Barry said, finally looking back at Paul.

"So what then?" the bassist asked a little sharply.

"I already told you I wouldn't leave you..." Barry said, then hesitated, bracing himself before he continued. "And you said that you weren't going to leave me, ever,"

Paul had nothing to say to that. He just watched him, a fiery intensity in his eyes behind the desperate sadness.

"You said," Barry repeated softly.

"I know."

"So you were lying."

"No." Paul whispered.

"You've changed your mind then?"

Paul actually turned his back on him, walking away a few steps, then turning back. "Of course not... Barry..."

Barry stood completely still, watching him and finally Paul walked back to him, cupping his face and kissing him. He didn't mean for it to last so long, but neither one wanted to pull away.

"Maybe you're right," Paul said.

"'Bout what?" Barry asked.

"All of it," Paul answered, as he pushed his own dark hair back and looked away for a moment, his hands falling to Barry's shoulders. He ran one down the singer's neck, and Barry leaned his head to the side, exposing the skin there, watching him. "I love you," Paul said, feeling himself tense, and he forced out a shaky breath.

Robbie backed away until she was sure they wouldn't hear her, then turned and was running for the house. She reached her room and walked aimlessly around it twice, before stopping, pressing her hand against her rapidly beating heart. She felt empty... lost – maybe that was because her brothers were going to leave again... she knew it, she felt it... but also, perhaps, because she was going to be here alone again... Father would be there, but that was different than Tom and Barry.

She would be alone in the way someone is when there are people about them – family, visitors from the mainland... but when they haven't found that connecting part of their soul... that one person...

It was a long time before she heard Paul and Barry's voices on the deck below her window. She listened to them, unable to make out what they were saying, but she heard the laughter in their tones, the way it would rise and fall like the sea, speaking with a strange intimacy.

Barry passed her room on his way back to his and Tom's. Robbie pushed the heel of her hand across her cheeks, wiping away the dampness there before she turned over and buried her face in her pillow and fell asleep.


	15. Part Fifteen

**Separation Anxiety**

Part 15

"Tom," Laura whispered, touching his face as she slipped into bed beside him. Almost asleep, he pushed over, one of Barry's shoulders digging into his back. Laura shivered, half laughing as she said, "God, it's cold."

"Yeah," Tom said, feeling Barry shift as he awoke behind him.

"Tom, you know that Paul and I have to leave tomorrow evening."

Tom had been trying to push this thought from his mind. He wanted to go back, badly, but the thought of leaving Robbie again tore at his heart.

Laura's eyes flickered from Tom's face to Barry's as he pushed himself up onto one elbow, looking at her over his brother's shoulder. "Don't go," Baz said, his voice slightly hoarse, and she bit her lip. "We have to Barry." Laura's eyes moved back to Tom. "Can I come with you?" Tom whispered.

"I want to go too," Barry mumbled.

"Do you want to?" Laura asked, the question mostly directed towards Tom.

"I do but..."

Laura smoothed his hair and he closed his eyes, burying his head against her. "You don't have to come right away."

"I'll miss you."

Barry was watching them and she smiled at him briefly before she tucked her head down to kiss Tom. Barry's eyes moved over them. Tom made a small noise, leaning up to deepen the kiss, his hand coming up and tangling into Laura's dark hair. Barry looked away.

There was still something about Laura that he... no.

He heard Laura make that soft gasping that she did when Tom's hand slid between her thighs, and she turned onto her back, her eyes big and trusting and dark. Tom slid over her, one of her legs coming up to press against his hip, and that was when Barry pushed himself off the of the bed, finding a pair of jeans on the floor that, when he pulled on, he realized were Tom's because they were a little too long and less worn in. It didn't matter anyway.

He slipped out of the room, wondering if they would get caught. The thought amused him, and still he felt a little flutter, slightly lower than his belly when his fingers slid over the smooth railing of the stairs...

Paul awoke to the press of fingers against his jaw, and half sat up, slightly startled. Barry's hands fell to Paul's wrists and tugged him up from the couch.

"Baz..." he said, softly thinking that he should be used to these outdoor excursions at all hours of the night by now – they happened so frequently.

"What?" he asked, and Barry responded by turning to him and sliding his fingers into the waistline of Paul's dark jeans, pulling him forward a step, his mouth hot and wet against Paul's neck, but then the touch was gone, and Paul sucked in a breath. When Barry disappeared into the dark hallway, he followed.

Tom's eyes flickered to the door as Barry left, feeling guilty for a moment, before Laura's fingers slid down his back along his spine, and his breath burst from him as he jerked his hips against hers. She smiled at him, pressing down on the small of his back with her hands, keeping him there against her before lifting her hips. He whispered promises, senseless words and, above all, her name, against her neck as he slid into her, feeling her fingers tighten.

"I love you."

The sighing of the sea filled Paul's ears, and when Barry turned to him, his eyes flickering over Paul's shoulder to judge the distance from there, to the house, then back to him again, Paul felt more whole than he had his whole fucking life.

Barry's hands on him, and Paul lay back, feeling the shifting of the sand under his shoulders and the short bits of sea grass against his neck, as Barry's lean body slid over him. They were in a dip of land which hid them from the little house, but not from the Abbey, dark against the night sky, its stoney top just visible.

"Oh my God," Paul breathed, before their mouths met; and the words, the way they were said in wonderful desperation sent shivers all through Barry, which were only intensified with Paul's lips on his neck, Paul pulling the collar of Barry's sweater down, then changing his mind and taking the bottom of it and pulling it off completely. And _fuck_, sucking on Barry's pale skin where his pulse beat above his collarbone.

Their breathing was rough and warm against their skin – contrasting sharply with the cold breeze as Paul sat up and pulled his shirt off – it was still in his hand when Barry pushed him down against the grass again, when his hands came up to hold Barry's sides. Barry's hands were hard on Paul's shoulders.

Paul shoved him off and rolled on top of him, his hand forcing Barry's chin up, their laughter escaping them in soft breaths and little huffs. It was like a game, but the way Baz's hand seemed to send surges into his nerves as it slid down his abdomen to his trousers was so much more.

Paul leaned down and barely brushed the singer's lips with his own. When Barry leaned up to kiss him, Paul pulled away, grinning. His laugh interrupted the sound of the sea the third or fourth time this happened, and Barry, with a frustrated motion, finally managed to push the denim over Paul's hips and reached up to cup the back of Paul's head in his hands and pull him down.

"Shh!" Laura almost-laughed as Tom cried out, her gaze moving nervously to the door even as they still rocked against each other. Her hands reached up to cradle Tom's face as he pulled back enough to look at her.

The way he said her name was different from anyone and everyone else she had ever been with. Somehow, men groaning her name into her breasts didn't hold so much meaning as Tom's lips barely forming the word – while he looked at her like this.

"Paul," Barry whispered, softer than Paul's voice, as he held Barry's hips in place. Barry loved how Paul would watch him, speak quietly to him, drawing his attention away from the pain that – more often than not – still accompanied their sex at the beginning.

It wasn't like the first time – Barry could never quite remember that.

"Are you ta- taking me with you?" Barry asked, his breath hitching. "To London?"

Paul's eyes met his and Barry saw the worry there. He tensed – fearing that Paul had changed his mind once again, then winced, and felt Paul slow his movements to more careful ones. Barry's hands fell to his hips, elevating his own up against Paul's, guiding him, forcing him to quicken his pace once more.

"Yes," Paul answered, his hand slipping down between them, tracing the scar, then lower until Barry moaned and clutched at him.

They lay close together, limbs entangled long after their breathing had returned to normal. It was still cold, but Barry would have gladly remained there until the sun rose. Eventually though, long before the darkest part of the night, they made their way back into the house, sand still in their hair and in their clothes. Barry didn't go back up to his and Tom's room, and instead lay flush against the bassist on the couch, balanced rather precariously on the edge with Paul's arm around him, making sure he didn't fall, and that was where they fell asleep.

By the next evening the atmosphere on the L'Estrange Head had changed. The walls seemed greyer, and the rain that settled in suited the mood – or perhaps added to it. Albert Howe was more distant than usual, but when the boys stood in the door to his study to say goodbye to him he called them inside and stood, embracing them both at once – something he hadn't done since they were very young. Barry ducked his head against Tom's shoulder to collect himself before he his father noticed the tears. Somehow that made their leaving again much more permanent.

Robbie walked them to the boat, and stood with the four of them before Bert Stebbings arrived in his boat. It wasn't long before she pressed the heel of her hand against her mouth and walked away several paces and stood with her back to them, her shoulders shaking as she sobbed silently.

Tom called her name softly, but Barry went to her first, sliding his hand into hers as he had when he was just a kid and holding on tightly. Tom followed, pulling Robbie's head under his chin, his eyes closed. She clutched Barry's hand painfully, her other hand holding tightly to the fabric of Tom's sweater.

When the boat arrived, she'd collected herself and hugged both her brothers, whispering that she loved them. Paul and Laura stood apart from the three of them, outcasts.

"We'll come back soon, Robbie," Tom was saying, as Barry said something about writing her. Baz kissed her cheek fleetingly, and she looked a little surprised at that display of affection, but then he had walked away, passing both Laura and Paul before they could catch a glimpse of his face. Bert watched Robbie walk back to their house with a worried expression. She was taking her time, one of her hands always raised to her face, wiping away any evidence of tears before she reached her deck.

Barry and Tom didn't say a word all the way across the water, but when they reached the train station their moods brightened a little. Tom wanted to know if they would start the band back up and Paul told him that he would have to speak to Zak again.

It was the last train, and Tom slept against Barry's shoulder while his brother looked out the window, occasionally catching Paul's eyes – the main thing that made him feel like coming back to London wasn't a mistake.

Paul joined Laura on the couch, handing her his cigarette as they watched Tom and Barry argue over some song lyrics across the recording room at Humbleden. "Are you spending the night here?" she asked, after blowing smoke away from Paul's face. Paul shook his head, leaning down to slip his bass back into its case. "No, we're coming back in the morning though. Aaron and Ben and I are going to wrap up the first two songs... And this one," he added, indicating the twins as he sat up again and took the fag back from her and taking a drag, "If we can ever agree on a chorus."

"Those are fucking stupid lyrics, Tommy!" Barry's voice carried across the room to them and Paul looked over, letting out a breathy laugh.

"Just fucking change them altogether then!" Nick snarled, coming out of the joined room. "You two arguin' about it ain't gonna make the song better!"

Barry glared at Nick and Tom backed down, pulling his notebook from Baz's hands and putting it into his guitar case. Laura stood up and joined him half-way across the room where he lowered his head towards hers and said something softly.

"Oi! What are you two talking about over there?" Nick asked, pointing his fag at them.

Laura only spared him a half-second glare before returning to their conversation.

Barry looked around, as Paul stood up, his bass case in his hand. Before he could ask, Paul said, "Are you coming with me?"

It was strange at first, Paul would find himself thinking in the middle of the night, while Barry slept next to him, to have Baz here in his flat – just the two of them. It was so rarely just the two of them. Usually it was them and Tom, and Laura, and Nick and Eddie who seemed more whole now that he had his cameras out at Humbleden, and with the rest of the crew never more than a room away.

It was a relief though – to escape from all the noise and the commotion. Passing the mirror that reflected the white powder back and forth on Paul's sitting-room floor and laughing until it hurt. The way their lips would be numb from cocaine when they kissed – tongues collecting the drug from each other's fingers.

But it wasn't always like that. Sometimes they would share a bottle of cheap wine or vodka, depending on their mood and it was quiet and peaceful. Records would spin over and over in the background, The Kinks, Clive's High Five, Iggy Pop, John Cale, The New York Dolls... The Bang Bang.

Sometimes they wouldn't speak for songs at a time. My Friend, Doola and Dawla that would always remind Barry of Robbie, and of It...

Sometimes there was a rushing in his ears – the sound of the sea. He knew that It... He... would never leave him completely.

Robbie jumped at the sudden noise, whirling around to face her window where Bert was sitting on her roof. He grinned at her and she crossed the room to push the window up.

"Bert, you startled me."

"Do you want to come back to my house with me?"

"What, now? It's so late."

"No I mean..." he began, somewhat awkwardly. "Well, I would have bought you a ring if I could afford it, but my job doesn't pay me that well, so I thought, we had to start somewhere..."

Robbie's eyes widened, and he pulled her hand away from her mouth and kissed her. "C'mon, gal. I'll have you back by morning, and ah, we'll break it to your Da'."

Tom stared out his and Barry's – his and Laura's window, only two stars visible from his position on the bed, Laura's head on his chest – and thought about his brother. At this moment, Barry's white limbs were tangled with Paul's on top of white sheets in Paul's flat, but Tom's jealously that Paul had, in a way, taken Barry away from him could never make him dislike the bassist.

Paul's tentative conversation with him had become easier and just like old times, when Barry was Tom and Tom was Barry, and no one could take him away. It was good, he thought, that Baz had found someone. And if Paul was anything like Laura – which Tom knew he must be – then all was well.

But no matter the distance. No matter that Barry was in a small flat all the way out in the city, shifting carefully against Paul, and looking out the window to where the city lights made the sky a velvety black – chasing all the stars into hiding – and hating the sound of the traffic, they were still Tom and Barry. Tom could still know him just by looking into his eyes – more than he'd ever known about Laura – or ever could know.

Barry thought, once, that even if they were both lost in London, or anywhere really, that they would know where to find each other.

He remembered a day about a month ago, when he had been out with Paul, pressing closer to him than was necessary as they made their way through the bustling crowds to the bus station so that they could meet with Zak about the band, the way he had looked up, for no reason at all and caught Tom's eyes through the crowd across the street. He had no idea that Tom had been out with Laura, returning from giving one of her articles to a publisher. He remembered the way they had held each other's eyes.

Neither of them told Laura or Paul about it.

They were, Tom thought, despite their (at times, seemingly endless) differences: still brothers, soulmates, twins.

_Tom_, Barry thought was _Barry_, Tom thought, _was him_.

_fin_


End file.
